


Girl's Night Out

by sohypothetically



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Crude Humor, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Snark, Underage Partying, random drunken behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:44:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 301,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7063048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohypothetically/pseuds/sohypothetically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Present day A/U. Johanna Mason copes with a breakup the only way she knows how: going on a man-hunt. She brings her roommate Katniss Everdeen with her and the rest is frat party history. Rated M for explicit language, sexual innuendo, and general snarkiness. Written for Prompts in Panem Places Challenge, Prompt: Frat House. (Ships: Jo/other, Everlark, Gadge, Odesta -- also, major death is not any of the main THG characters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Frat Party

"It's too fucking quiet in here." I glare at my roommate and flop down on my purple and pink polka dot bean bag chair. My roommate, Katniss, just gives me a quiet look.

"Well, it is. All you do is study. You're a fucking stiff. And don't start with the 'but being here is such a great opportunity' bullshit. I know that your Mom and sister are starving at home or something while you are here in glamorous Los Angeles…" It's a cheap shot: I know that maligning Katniss's little sister Prim is sure to pick a fight. I'm not disappointed.

She slams down her pencil ( _who still does their homework in pencil?)_ and glares at me. "Do not bring my family into this. We are lucky to be here in L.A. You should appreciate the sacrifices of your family more."

"Yeah, yeah." I reply drolly. "We're here in South Central Los Angeles. It's not like it's fucking Hollywood or anything. There's nothing to do here. I wish I had a car." I pop up and am pacing around our small dorm room like a caged tiger. I finally settle on opening a box of Nilla Wafers and dumping a handful into a bowl. I top it with milk and chocolate sauce and root around on top of our micro-fridge for a clean spoon.

Katniss's voice is laced with concern. "Oh, no, Jo. Not again."

"Everdeen, do not start."

"You guys broke up _again?_ " Katniss gapes at me. I can't tell if she's looking at my face or the awesome culinary monstrosity I am shoving in my mouth. She is referring to my off-again, on-again relationship with the hot ROTC guy from upstairs. And by on-again, off-again, I mean that I like to spend some of my time "on" him, getting "off". Get it?

I crack myself up.

"When are you going to give up on him and move on?"

I slurp through the slurry of Nilla Wafers and milk, then wipe my mouth with a wadded up Kleenex from my side of the desk. "Move on? Are you kidding? I'm just getting started. Have you _seen_ him in uniform? Yum. I just like to keep him on his toes." I stare her down, daring her to contradict me. Usually she puts up a good fight. I need one right now because my heart still hurts from Brian's, "I love you, I'm just not in love with you" speech. _Prick_.

Tonight, she just shakes her head. "Jo, you're better than this. I don't care if he does look better than _Top Gun_ _in 3-D,_ you need a more stable relationship. One where the guy cares about you the way you care about him."

"Stable?" I say it like it's a dirty word. "That's for old ladies. Wallfowers – no offense to the present company. You know my motto…"

She finishes it for me, "Body by _Ferrari_ , heart by _Jeep_. You should add 'stomach of iron' to that." She motions to my empty bowl. "That's disgusting. How can you eat that?"

Katniss has an eating disorder or something – she barely eats. She says it's something about growing up poor and she doesn't want to get too used to having a lot in case she ever has to live like that again. It generally works out for me because I never have to worry about my roomie eating my food.

Our relationship works because neither of us judges too much. Or maybe because we judge each other too much. Hard to tell. Bottom line, though is that I would walk through fire for Katniss fucking Everdeen. Just don't tell her that.

I shrug. "I needed a snack. You know I get hungry before dinner, and I hate what they serve in the dining hall anyway. What's today? Meatloaf?" I give an exaggerated shudder. Meatloaf day in the dorm cafeteria is enough to make me want to go vegetarian.

"No, it's Thursday that's the Malibu Chicken Sandwich."

Did I mention that Everdeen doesn't eat? She memorizes the menu, though. It's like she got caught for stalking food and food took out a restraining order. I'm excited by the thought of the Malibu. It's a breaded chicken patty with ham and muenster cheese. They top it with some special sauce and put it on a bun. _Yum_. Something to look forward to tonight besides watching a chick movie like _Stick It._

I know, it's a glamorous life I lead. This is why I like Brian to liven it up a bit.

Wait a sec. Did Everdeen just say that it's Thursday? I know what we're going to do tonight. Katniss must see the gleam in my eye because she's eying me warily and shaking her head. I'm sure she knows what's coming: she usually sees my crazy ideas coming before I do.

—o—

So we're walking down the street: Katniss, her friend Madge and I. Madge is a real looker – all soft, blonde hair, pansy blue eyes, and curves in all the right places so that she looks like an old-school pin-up girl. Seriously. She's so gorgeous that even I'm about a twelve hour Lifetime for Women movie-marathon away from pitching for the other team. I had Katniss ask her because she's boy-bait. She's the anti-Katniss: quiet and soft spoken. I'm sure there's a dominatrix personality in there somewhere and I can't wait to see it someday. Guys just eat that shit up. They can't wait to open the door for her, or get a drink for her, or just breathe in her Love's Baby Soft or whatever the hell scent she wears. I don' even care that I'm going to swoop in and pick off the leftovers: Madge's leftovers are that good.

We're headed to the ultimate feast of male flesh: a frat party. It's like a co-ed buffet. It's the ultimate place to work off my anger at Brian with some young, pretty, limber guy. Someone who has more staying power than sense, preferably. I can't wait to lose myself in some rock hard abs. Heck, I'd take some mushy-as-sand abs right about now. A girl's got to get her confidence back, right?

Which is why I am surprised when, as we're walking down Adams and turning onto fraternity row, a guy jumps onto the fence around a frat house. He looks a little bit like a golden retriever, all blonde wavy hair and exuberant smiles. He is, of course, smiling his big puppy dog smile right at Madge ( _Good call, Mason!)_. The best part is that he is hotter than a Hemsworth and I mean the cute, blonde one.

"Hi, ladies." I swear those dimples are enough to make me devour him whole.

"Hi, handsome!" I swagger up to him while Katniss and Madge simper like pansies.

The Hottie doesn't take his eyes off of them, though. _Damn Madge and her soft pink sweaters._ "You ladies coming to the party?"

_Duh_. Oh, that's too bad: his elevator doesn't go to the top floor. _Hello, Captain Obvious!_ I decide then and there that I will call him Brainless. I generally like my men with a little more going on upstairs, although he is hotter than Chris Evans as The Human Torch in _Fantastic Four_. And those dimples! And those jeans! I might be able to talk myself into him.

I smile a toothy grin in his direction and say energetically, "Absolutely."

He beams. "Can't wait. Come on inside."

And just like that, we walk into Lambda Chi Whatever. Thank God for Madge's pink sweater, because we're in without a door fee and the typical fight from Katniss over money. Brainless from outside is nowhere in sight. The girls and I grab our Red Solo cups while I scope out the target rich environment. It has all the best elements: beer pong, groups of hot guys milling about, free-flowing beer, and _(best of all),_ not a lot of girls yet to spoil the hunting.

I assume my mission to nail a guy is blessed from above when I see the translation of Lambda Chi's motto above the door, "Every Man a Man." It's like I'm in the Diet Coke commercial where the ladies in the office building watch the construction workers - I know I've come to the right place.

—o—

Brainless finds us and we talk for a while. Frankly, I am having fun getting a pleasant buzz on and watching him flirt with, surprisingly, Katniss. I didn't even think Katniss Everdeen knew _how_ to flirt. I'm sure she's seen a picture of a man once or twice, but this is the closest to one I think I've ever seen her get. Maybe some of it has to do with Madge's earlier exclamation of, "Peeta? Peeta Mellark?"

I have no idea what that meant, except that Brainless flushed all the way up to his ears and hung his head sheepishly. It was so adorable that I almost had to go get a tennis ball for him to fetch. Turns out that he's an old high school friend of Madge's, which may be why he turned his attentions to Madge's wingman instead. I'm pretty sure he recognized that I was out of his league almost immediately by the way he kept skittering away every time I tried to size up his bulge.

What? If you're going to chop some wood, it's important to know the size of the log.

Anyway, I'm having fun watching Katniss act like a girl and not a student-robot for once. She's smiling. I swear that I even saw a hair flip. If Brainless isn't careful, he might unleash the huntress within. And here I thought she might not ever be ready for a vibrator! I guess she's been reading up on the side and moved right to the advanced level. I smile at the thought of my little Katniss all grown up and talking to a penis with a pulse. She'd fucking deck me if she knew what I was thinking, which just makes me want to laugh out loud.

I decide to check out the rest of the party. Katniss and her wingman are going to be just fine – it's not like they are alone as long as they have their faithful companion, Brainless. I can tell by his earnest expression that he's more reliable than a seeing eye dog.

I get in a parting shot while he's gone to get refills for the three of them." You bring that back to our room, you had better bring out the puppy pads."

Katniss looks at me like I'm crazy. It's a pretty normal look. "What, Jo?"

I throw a thumb in his direction. "He's so youthful. So full of energy. He's like a golden retriever puppy. Does he do one word commands?" I waggle my eyebrows. I know Katniss can fill in what sort of commands I would give him. She hits me on the shoulder surprisingly hard: she may be thin, but she's wiry.

"He's a good guy."

"And how do you know him?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm playing with her, sure, but I'm also nosy as hell.

"We knew each other in high school."

Now, it's important for you to know that Katniss does this thing when she's embarrassed or lying. Sure, she blushes sometimes. But when she's really being cagey, she tucks a ghostly strand of hair behind her ears two or three times, smoothing it back like it's out of place.

Katniss raises her hand to smooth a hair that isn't there behind her ear. I grin at her. _Gotcha._

"Ah? Did he know how to spell G-spot back then? Because it might be time for you to give him a pop quiz, Kat. Don't worry, I won't be home tonight." I see the warmth of a blush across her cheeks just as Brainless comes back with the beer.

I scram because I hate being a third wheel. Let him scrounge up a friend for the gorgeous but tragically lonely Madge — I'll find my own wood in this forest.

—o—

I head to the rear of the house, where the music is so loud that I can feel the bass in my teeth. There are hot, sweaty, gyrating bodies dancing and it's like watching vertical foreplay. I love the primal feel of it. I decide this is my new hunting ground and find a spot to stand while I tap my foot in time to the music. One hand is holding my Red Solo cup, the other is looped casually in the pocket of my jean mini skirt in the girl gesture for _I'm available._ I scout the territory. There are some promising possibilities, including a guy doing a keg stand who looks like The Rock, complete with tribal armband tattoo.

I make my way over to him ready to make him my Scorpion King, when I notice a small card table toward the back corner of the room. It has a passel of guys seated around it, sort of like a bird feeder for boys. I abandon my rock-hard friend and mosey over to what looks like a poker game. And a game like that, with a bunch of guys as my audience, is a game I want to play.

Yeah, I'm competitive. Shock, right? It doesn't help that Brian has stomped on my heart so I want to take an axe to the nearest male I see. A poker game is the perfect place to cut someone down to size. One way or another tonight, I'm gonna fuck somebody, even if it's only their wallet.

Poker is a game of skill and I have a time-tested strategy. I put on my best _I'm a girl_ voice and change my body language to tone it down. I'm hoping it no longer says, _Hi, wanna fuck?_ And now more closely resembles, O _oh, is that Poker? I've never played before…_ Which is what I say out loud. A bunch of male heads turn in my direction and it's like a pack of wild dogs are checking me out as meal potential. Ah, a bunch of overeager males: this is going to be so much fun.

Someone pulls out a chair for me ( _how sweet – I bet he calls his Mom at least once a week_ ) and tells me that he'll help me with the rules. He introduces himself as Brue and asks me if I'm at the party alone. I widen my eyes innocently.

"I'm here with a couple of friends. My roommate is back there talking to a guy. They seem pretty into each other…" For a second I feel a genuine flash of concern. Katniss _is_ back there talking to some total stranger. I push the concern aside for two reasons: one, Katniss is quiet but is pretty bad ass when she wants to be. I've never seen a girl fight like she does when we argue. Two, Brainless looks like the worst thing he'll do is lick her to death. Which she might enjoy, if she didn't have such a stick up her ass.

Brue furtively looks at my cheerleading t-shirt with its strategically placed megaphone bearing my name. Here's another guy-fishing pointer: megaphones make their I.Q. drop twenty points at least. It could be the fact that mine is right over my breasts which are oh-so-perky in their push-up bra, or the idea of a limber girl in a short skirt … If you can get your hands on anything with a megaphone on it, do it. I came by my shirt honestly and I plan on using it like a _Get into pants_ _free_ card.

"Jo-Jo?" He asks tentatively.

I giggle. "Johanna. My name is Johanna." I giggle again. He falls for it hook, line and sinker and the rest of the guys fall in line as well. I learn all of their names: John and Scott and Jason and Chris. The super-hunk of dark and brooding manhood introduces himself as Gale.

_He's named like a girl? You've got to be fucking kidding._ Evidence, again, that God has a sense of humor.

Brue is being a sweetheart and explaining the rules of five card stud in small words, obviously thinking I am either impaired or an idiot. Maybe he's hoping I am just that drunk. I wonder if I should let him down now or save him as a backup in case I can't close the deal with the Super Nova at the other end of the table but I decide against it. Brue seems like a nice guy and it's always good to have a friendly face to have your back, especially in a room full of guys. Everyone needs a wing man, right? Despite Tall, Dark and Broody, the rest of the table is totally buying my innocent girl act. And Brue is adding credibility to it, completely, by treating me with the respect and consideration of a little old lady being escorted across the street.

I decide then and there that I'll slip him some of my winnings. Because I _will_ win.

—o—

An hour later, Dr. McHottie is the only person at the table still sober enough to be a contender. He keeps staring at me over his shots of Jaeger, shooting me dark looks. If he were any more brooding he should be wearing an REM t-shirt. It's late, his glares are getting old and I'm so bored that not even the thought of him removing my undies with his teeth cheers me up.

"Well, boys, it's been fun." I stand and begin to collect my winnings, ready to take my game elsewhere. Two of the guys laugh at me. One snores. Brue is passed out, so I take a wad of cash and shove it into his pocket inconspicuously. He probably won't remember any of this tomorrow and it feels like the least I can do when he was so nice to me.

He-who-is-hot- but-has-the-name-of-a-chick says drolly, "How about we take a more private game upstairs, just you and me?"

I pause: one the one hand, he is Captain-of-the-Starship-Enterprise-hot. On the other hand, I'm tired of his glares and his quiet intensity and his bullshit. If I wanted angst like this, I would read my english classics assignments. Or call Brian. Still, it's late – way past two and finding someone to ride off into the sunrise is going to be difficult at this time of night.

So I say the only thing I feel like is really an option. "Sure."

As I'm following his Mark Wahlberg t-shirt torso and Channing Tatum ass up the stairs and congratulating myself on a pretty great consolation prize, I spy the familiar braid of my roommate moving down the hall. She is following a glowing yellow head that I can only assume to be Peter or Pedro or whatever his name is. I give Katniss a mental hi-five and remind my drunken brain to talk to her tomorrow. Hopefully she's remembered the three rules our Resident Advisor Effie has drilled into our brains: penis, partners, prophylactics. _Check for penis, check for partners, bring your own prophylactics._ I giggle - that's how fucking drunk I am.

It's the sight of the old-school Lita Ford, Bon Jovi, and Warrant posters in Gale's room that makes me guffaw. _Holy shit, the guy is a closet 80's hair band throwback!_ I can feel myself humming music that reminds me of my parents, which is decidedly not cool. I decide I have to take matters into my own hands…as it were…to counteract the parental vibe.

—o—

It's barely six when I wake and I feel pretty good. Hey, it's the curse of a fast metabolism, what can I say? I assess all body parts for soreness and love bites and then make short work of finding my clothes. My date, if you can call him that, snores lightly. Even asleep he is amazingly hot: like a Baldwin back when the Baldwins were _it,_ but without the pesky mat of chest hair. I dress. My spiky hair is strategically planned for walks of shame, so I just run my fingers through it. I check my pockets for my keycard and cell phone, make sure I have all the cash I came to the party with (plus my winnings) and quietly close the door behind me.

Something downstairs smells great. I use the facilities quickly, trying to touch as few of the surfaces as possible – have you _seen_ fraternity bathrooms after a party? – and practically jog down the stairs. Whatever that smell is reminds me of being back home on Christmas morning and spending time with my Mom and Dad before the rest of the kids woke up.

I love mornings. Shh. Don't tell anyone.

I round the corner to find the blonde guy (what was his name, again?) who was with Katniss and Madge last night baking. _Fucking_ _baking!_ I would laugh, but the smell coming from the oven tops the orgasms I had last night. My mouth starts to water. I swear that his hotness quotient just went up about 2 points with room for more if whatever he made turns out to be from scratch.

"Oh, hi, Johanna." He says sheepishly. Like I caught him masturbating or something. "Can I get you some coffee?"

I don't do coffee because it gives me the jitters. My body is a temple, alright? "I'm more of a tea gal, myself."

He smiles at me and those killer dimples flash. "Girl after my own heart." He hands me a mug of something steamy and strong; just the way I like it.

I smile back at him because it's impossible not to in the morning brightness filled with those amazing smells. "Speaking of hearts…where is my roommate, Katniss?"

He doesn't even miss a beat. "She's still upstairs, asleep. She really doesn't do very well with alcohol, does she?"

Uh oh. Katniss has a nasty habit of being a puker. I grimace in commiseration. "I probably should have warned you."

He shrugs and laughs. "I doubt I would have listened. I just wanted to spend time with her."

"So you ended up holding her hair back, huh?" Katniss inspires that sort of thing. I've even done it a couple of times.

I stare in awe as he removes two dozen muffins from the oven. I notice he's got a couple more trays of various things ready to bake. "What's with all the baked goods?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Baking relaxes me – I grew up working in my Dad's bakery. Everyone's usually pretty hungry after a party, so I thought I would make some stuff."

The smell may be distracting, but the famous Mason nerve endings are a-twitching. I take in his tired, sad eyes, wavy hair tousled - but not from sleep- and the slump of his shoulders. I put it all together. "You had a thing for her in high school, didn't you? And now that you've reconnected…you're scared? Of what?" Katniss is the most loyal person I know: if she thought enough of him to go upstairs, then she's all in.

He moves slowly and sits at the long, scarred table. His shoulders slump even more as he huddles over his mug. "I've liked her for a long time but she's in love with someone else."

"Love?" I squeak loudly, and it's not just from the jet of scalding blueberry that just exploded in my mouth like a tiny atom bomb. I would know if Katniss loved anyone. She's my roommate, for God's sake.

He sighs heavily. "Yeah, she's always been in love with Gale Hawthorne. I never stood a chance."

I pause in the midst of cleaving another blueberry muffin in half to cool so I can actually taste it. I hope the nerve endings in the roof of my mouth come back. "Did you just say _Gale_?" There cannot be two guys with a name like that on the planet, can there?

"Yeah. He's another fraternity brother of mine."

It's not lost on me that I have possibly slept (and I use the term lightly) with my roommate's love interest. I shudder: an Everdeen crossed is not a good thing. I'm going to have to calculate contingencies because I don't think she is going to buy my _but I was really drunk and his washboard abs lured me in_ defense.

I shake my head to try to clear it, suddenly remembering why I think the guy in front of me resembles a golden retriever. "You're fraternity brothers with the guy who supposedly has the heart of your long-time crush? Are you for fucking-real? Why would you do that to yourself?" _And I thought my relationship with Brian was complicated._ Although the words are harsh, my tone is not. I can't be mean to a guy who looks the way he does and is feeding me glorious-from-freakin'-scratch blueberry muffins.

The timer dings and he pulls another batch of muffins out of the oven, swapping cookie sheets with some unbaked cinnamon rolls. I vow reverently that I am at least sticking it out until those are out of the oven and iced. He flops down heavily and we sip our tea in silence.

"What happened to Madge last night?" I ask him.

"She crashed in my room too."

I gawk. "Let me get this straight: you dress like you're from Abercrombie. You're hotter than Brad Pitt in Fight Club. You held hair back for two girls last night, let them crash in your room and can bake like this? What's the catch? Because you've got to be a pervert, or killed someone or something."

He grins at me and it's boyishly sweet. It makes me want to deck my roommate and tell her to wise up. "Thanks, I think. I don't think I'm a pervert. And I haven't killed anyone that I know of…"

I snort. "The pervs never think they're perverted."

"I'm a totally normal guy."

"Sure you are."

"No really. What you see is what you get." He holds his hands out, palms up.

I bit into a scone and close my eyes. _This is heaven._ "Then she's a fucking idiot."

The words are still hanging in the air when I see his eyes grow wide. _Speak of the devil._ Katniss is a pretty quiet walker, so I'm placing bets that he's jittery all of a sudden because it's her standing behind me.

"Good morning, sunshine." I throw over my shoulder in her direction.

Katniss is not a morning person and she looks like hell: her braid is askew, her green t-shirt has a stain on it that smells like tequila and she is frowning with eyes that barely seem to be open at all. She winces at the loudness of my voice.

Her voice is much softer when she greets us. And by _us_ I really mean _him._ She is already ignoring me. "Good morning, Peeta. I hope you don't mind, but Madge will be down in a couple of minutes. Then you can have your room back."

Peeta ( _that's his name!)_ is already up and moving around the kitchen. He puts a cup of coffee, a glass of water and an aspirin in front of her without even needing to be asked. It makes me want to punch him. _Grow a set, man!_ Katniss nods her thanks and takes the pill, then drinks the water thirstily. Peeta nudges a muffin in her direction but Katniss shakes him off.

_Sometimes she is such a bitch._ I snatch the muffin and eat it myself.

We hear a commotion on the steps, a soft giggle and a louder, decidedly male one. I swear I recognize at least one of those voices….Sure enough, it's Madge and Gale, acting chummy.

"Hey, Peet. I was just telling Madge how great your muffins are. She's in for a real treat." Peeta's gotten quiet all of a sudden. I look over at him curiously, then at the couple just joining us. Madge's smile seems to be sliding off her face. She suddenly looks…well…guilty.

Why would Madge look guilty? It's not like she boned Gale last night _._ The prick hasn't even acknowledged me. Two things hit me simultaneously: _Katniss doesn't know that I was with him_ followed quickly by _Holy crap. Madge likes Gale._

What the fuck happened while they were all in high school?

I'm staring from one face to another in abject fascination. Katniss looks like she might throw up again, Peeta looks more hurt by the minute. Madge fidgets like she is trying to hide something. Only Gale still has the cool confident look of Matt Bomer. _Damn his strong jawline all to hell and damn him for his total lack of loyalty to Katniss._ I hate a man who needs more than one woman.

No, I am not a fucking hypocrite. I'm not talking about monogamy versus anything else. I'm not even talking about physicality. I'm talking about a man (or woman) who needs the emotional attention of more than one partner to feel whole. Whether it's because they are insecure, or because they are an attention whore, being an emotional vampire is just not cool.

I'm trying to read into the suddenly oppressive silence that has fallen over the room when I feel my cell phone vibrating. It almost jolts me clear out of my seat. I look at the screen: it's Brian. _Fucking Brian!_ No way am I picking up now. This is just too juicy to leave alone.

Gale is eating a muffin looking like he owns the place. The ladies look clearly uncomfortable. Peeta looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. I decide to take matters into my own hands. After all, I am a lady of action and Peeta is a man seriously lacking in game.

"So, Peeta. Exactly how long have you been in love with my roommate?"

I can see the _Boom_! on their faces when I launch that grenade right into the center of the room. Peeta looks stunned, frozen in place like a rabbit. I feel my cell phone vibrate again and judiciously ignore it just so I can watch Gale go from satisfied to brooding, Madge's fidget-y guilt clear and Katniss…well, the most surprising look is Katniss's.

I thought she'd be mad at the attention, or flattered but humble that a hot guy likes her. I thought it would be the only way to deflect questions about my time in a frat house all night seemingly alone with carnal knowledge of her high school crush. Instead, she's staring at Peeta. _Is that a fucking blush?_

I ignore the third vibration in my pocket: this is way better than Brian. This is better than being stuck in an elevator with the entire baseball team. I grab a chocolate muffin and take a satisfying bite. If that look on Everdeen's face means what I think it means, there will be a whole lot more baked goods around my dorm room in the coming months.

This year just got a lot more interesting.


	2. Lost

"Wake. Up."

"No." I say. Katniss has clearly had enough, but _fuck her_. I need to wallow. If I didn't get my ass out of bed for a little mattress calisthenics with Brian, I am clearly not getting it into gear for her. She can just bite me.

Why am I in such a funk? You'd think after hooking up with the guy who turned out to be Katniss's first love and dodging the bullet that it could have been by throwing a super-hot guy named Peeta at her that I would be in great shape. I think back to the day after the party: we got back to the dorm. Katniss's phone rang and she discovered that I had given Peeta her phone number. We fought. Brian texted. I had great make up sex up against the door of his room, then again before dinner.

The next day, I discovered _it_ missing. I shied away from the thought of _it_ being lost and move right to the angry, need-to-forget sex that I had with Brian (rough and doggie-style, thank you very much!).

It turns out that I well-and-truly lost something that I hold very, very dear. I can't find it. Any-fucking-place. It's the only one of its kind and it's gone, probably forever. Whenever I think about it, my stomach clenches and it makes me want to puke. And since I'm not a puker by nature (unlike Katniss), I want to lie under the covers and feel sorry for myself.

And no, I'm not going to cry like some pussy. I'm beyond that. I'm going to wish I were dead.

I think I hear Katniss walking away from my bed. I wonder if I'm imagining it because she's so freakin' quiet. Still, I think I hear her socks on our carpet. I have a minute to wonder what she's up to and then wish I had earplugs in.

"Is that One Direction?" I have to yell over the music – that's how loud she's got it cranked. I love Niall Horan as much as the next girl, but _really_ , Everdeen? I'm trying to wallow in my misery to _Kiss You_ and it's impossible. It's all I can to hold my body still instead of tapping my toes to the beat. The least she could have done was play something angry instead, like P.O.D. or Jet.

I deserve to lie in bed this morning and wish for my own demise. After a week of holding it together, going to classes, studying, and looking for the thing I've lost, I am entitled to lay in bed and hope rigor mortis sets in, or something horrible, like Typhus. Cholera. Ebola.

Katniss is yelling something and I almost miss it. I think she is saying something about not wanting to have to "pull out the big guns" and it almost makes me snort with laughter. Yeah. Like she has big guns. _Brian. Now he has a big gun._ And like I said, if not even the thought of him plowing me hard from behind is enough to get me up….

What is that smell? _Oh my God…is that…_

I've only ever smelled a smell that good once in my young and impressionable life: at a frat house a week ago. It was right after I forced Peeta to confess his undying love for Katniss. (Ok, I did the confessing for him. I'm sure he'll thank me for it, someday.) He pulled these cinnamon rolls out of the oven and I swear - I fucking swear – the earth moved. If Jesus himself gave me a choice between heaven and those cinnamon rolls, I would choose the cinnamon rolls.

I pull my head out from under my bright pink comforter. Katniss is holding a plate of steaming cinnamon roll mere inches from my head. When I reach for it, though, the bitch moves it out of my reach so I have to sit up. She actually makes me get up and go sit at the desk like a real, alert human before she'll put the plate in front of me. I pounce on it like a cat on a tuna fish, or that scene in Beauty and the Beast where the Beast tries to eat oatmeal and it goes everywhere as he tries to figure out how to get his face in the bowl. The minute the image crosses my mind, I shy away from it. _Don't, Jo. Don't think about._ Disney princesses are enough to make me want to climb back into bed and howl.

"So you saw Pedro?" I lick frosting and some sort of yummy cinnamon goo from my fingers. I know that his name is really Peeta, but I'm not going to give Everdeen the satisfaction. I need to bait her in retaliation for pulling me out of bed. I still want to nuke all of humanity and I'm not forgetting that.

She rolls her eyes. "Peeta. His name is Peeta. And yes. I saw him. I had to. Because _someone_ gave him my cell number." She smirks at me like I'm going to rise to the bait but I'm not. I don't have it in me and she frowns when she picks up on that. She watches me practically lick the plate. "We're invited to a barbecue at the frat house tonight. He's grilling." She waits for me to bite on the pun. When I still don't because I'm still too close to the edge of the gaping chasm of hurt, her frown deepens and she finishes the thought for me. "Jo, your line is, _Don't you mean he's smokin'_?" She sighs when she still doesn't get a reaction.

This is what I love about my roommate: she's able to play these little games without so much as giving an inch. It keeps me in line. And if you tell her that, I'll fucking deck you.

"Anyway, he's grilling. As in hotdogs and hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, the works." She's tapping her fingers on the desk to the beat of the music and totally oblivious that she's memorized another menu.

I can't leave it. I can't. My willpower is just not that strong, no matter the grief. I know, I suck. "Are you going to eat a _hot dog_?" Now I'm just pushing her. I know she'll hit me sooner or later. I'm relishing it, really, almost as much as I am enjoying the mental picture of Katniss Everdeen trying to shove an entire hotdog in her mouth a la speed-hotdog-eating contest. As much as I want to picture that, watch Peeta's face as she bites into it and then laugh at the both of them, I know I can't. Not tonight. "You have fun with that, Everdeen."

She doesn't rise to the bait. She looks at me and says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

My first instinct is to drop my eyes but I fight it. "No."

She must know it's bad because she pushes, "You just haven't been right all week, and…"

"Drop it, Everdeen. I don't want to go."

She watches me as the music switches to _Live While We're Young._ "I don't want to leave you alone."

I shrug, like it's no big deal and I don't want to just have her leave me alone so I can ransack my half of the room looking for this thing and then cry when I don't find it. "We can still chill for a few hours, right?"

"Jo, it's after 2 pm. You've been asleep fourteen hours."

Wow. That's close to my record. Last time I slept for fourteen hours straight was after the trip my cheerleading squad took to Tampa senior year. You try coming down off four days of Diet Bawls energy drinks mixed with a cayenne pepper/lemon juice colon cleanse and see how you do.

"I guess I needed the rest." It's all I can say. I know it's not enough when I see her eyes narrow at me.

"I'm not going either, then." She crosses her arms over her chest.

That. Is. It. Fucking pity from Everdeen? I don't think so.

I stand up and stretch, making a big show of it. I walk over to my dresser and casually pull out some clothes. Taking my time, I get my towel down from its place next to my bathrobe. I put the whole pile on my bed. Then, I conspicuously lay a bottle of K-Y and my purple vibrator on top. I want to send her a message loud and clear: do not pity me _. I do not need a hug._

I say casually, "Well, I was hoping for some alone time. But, I guess I can finally show you a thing or two with the purple monster here."

She blanches, stammers something and then bolts out of the room.

Problem solved. Finally some peace and quiet.

Except, I don't want peace and quiet. I don't want time to think.

I turn up the music in order to drown out the woohoo girls next door. (That's where the girls next door are having such a raucous good time that they keep shouting _woohoo_ for no apparent reason. It happens a lot.) I'm in the middle of a grueling rotation of crunches, pushups and burpees when I hear a knock at the door.

It had better not be the woohoos asking me to turn it down.

"What?" I shout over _Good Vibrations_ (thank you Marky Mark) _._

"Johanna Mason, how do you spell _rowdy_?" The confident voice on the other side of the door says. It's a voice I would know anywhere. I immediately want to smile, no matter how bad my day, because Finn Odair has that effect on people.

I fling open the door. "It's r-o-w-d-i-e." He helps me spell it, but he ends it with a _–y_. I laugh. Finn, though, takes one look at me, frowns and hugs me. Which I allow.

Surprising, right?

I've known Finn since I was seven years old when we met at cheerleading camp. Finnick Odair was my base. I was his flyer. We have a special relationship that only years of grueling punishment and high levels of physical contact can give you. He knows everything about me, and I mean everything. The man has shoved his hands into places on my body during routines that even Brian has not dared to go. I am not exaggerating when I say that I would trust him with me life because, every time I stepped out onto the floor for a routine, that is exactly what I did.

You might think that I would have hooked up with him at some point, but our relationship isn't like that. I trust him way too much to have sex with him. Plus, Finn is way beyond hot: he's actually beautiful. He is the reason I know what Carly Rae Jepsen means when she sings, _It's hard to look right at you, baby._ He is an Adonis of the first order: golden hair streaked with sunlight, sea green eyes below dark eyebrows and a tan all over. He's so gorgeous that I've seen other cheerleaders walk into walls when he comes in the room. Girls swoon - literally fucking _swoon -_ over him.

"Jo, you look like hell."

"Thanks. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I got a text from your phone that said something about you giving me a blow-job if I came over right away." He waggles his eyebrows in invitation. It makes me want to giggle. Can you believe it? Giggle. Like I'm twelve and don't have other things on my mind.

"Fucking Katniss." I shake my head.

"Is that your roommate? I'd love to meet her sometime. Because obviously I don't want head coming from someone looks the way you do. Or smells." He wrinkles his nose. "You need a shower."

"Thanks, Finn. Always a pleasure."

"All the ladies say so." He grins and immediately flops down on Katniss's bed. I hope he's rubbing some kind of boy-stink on her pillow, just to get back at her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No. Will everyone stop hounding me?" I glare at him. Finn and I have enough history that he's not going to push directly forward. So he lures me with the one thing he knows will work.

"Well, ok. I was going over to Baskin Robbins for some mint chocolate chip. Thought you might want to come. But there's no way that I'm going anywhere with you looking like this." He motions to my entire body.

Ice cream is my downfall. OK. It's _one_ of my downfalls. But right now the thought of cold, creamy ice cream is a lure I cannot resist. The bastard knows me too well.

He smirks in my direction like he knows he's got me. "Look. I'll make you a deal: I'll come back in 15 minutes to pick you up. If you're not showered and dressed, I will personally carry you to the shower and scrub you down." He spies the pile of clothes and stuff on my bed, complete with the lube and vibrator and then corrects himself. "I had better make that 20 because you obviously had something planned."

He gets off the bed, leaving the covers mussed. _Katniss deserves it._ "Remember, I'll come in and wash you down myself. A lot of girls would hold out just to take a shower with me, you know. Twenty minutes."

The only retort I can think of as he walks out is, "Fuck you, Finn."

I close my eyes and lean against the door. Sometimes friends are too much trouble. Even ones that look like Greek gods.

I know Finn will make good on his threat to throw me in the shower and scrub me down. As much as I love him, I want to avoid the inevitable scene that will develop when my all-girls floor sees a hot male enter the bathroom. Like I want to explain _that_ to my Resident Advisor Effie. I hastily undress and grab my bath things after stowing the purple monster back in my dresser and head to the shower.

I hate to admit it, but Finn was right. A few minutes spent under practically scalding water with vanilla body scrub and I feel like a human. Once I've showered, I hang out in my room, put some stuff away and half-heartedly rifle futilely through my drawers. I'm just about to get dressed when there is a knock on the door.

I call out in exasperation, "Finn, you're early" and fling open the door. Except that it's not Finn. It's a medium height, medium build, dark haired, blue eyed guy who might be a cutie if he wasn't frowning. I know that he looks familiar, but I can't place him. His eyes widen and his frown turns into a deep scowl as he takes in the sight of my wet, spiky hair and towel. Like he's never seen a semi-naked girl before? I doubt it. He's not quite Ryan Lochte, but he's close.

"Jo, right?" Your roommate, Katniss, said you would be here." He must notice the blank look on my face because he continues explaining, "I've been texting both of you. I got your number from Gale. I'm…"

"…Brue." We both say together. I'm surprised that I recall the ultra-polite wingman from the frat party a week ago. I'm even more surprised that he's shown up on my doorstep. It feels a little creepy, like he's stalking and I hitch at my towel in annoyance. I watch his eyes follow my hands and then come back up to my face as he swallows. When he asks in an irritated voice if he can come in, I realize he's not nearly as polite sober as he is drunk. Or maybe I'm just annoyed and he's upping my ante.

"So, what can I do for you?" I say as I let him in.

"I was wondering why I woke up last weekend with a pocketful of cash. When I asked Gale, he laughed and said I should ask you. But you didn't answer my texts…" he trails off.

He came all the way to my dorm to ask me about a pocketful of cash? I'm not buying it, so I say coolly, "It's your part of my winnings from the poker game." He doesn't seem to recall the game at all, so I start patronizing him and talking to him like he's a child. And not a very smart one. "The poker game that you helped me win?" I tap my foot and frown at him. "Exactly how drunk were you last weekend?"

He grins briefly and it's like sun coming out from behind clouds - his hotness quotient goes up about five points - he's much, much cuter when he smiles. "Pretty drunk. So, you're saying that I helped you win at poker somehow? Exactly how does someone help someone win at poker?"

"Yeah, you treated me like a girl and everyone fell for it." I can't help the self-satisfied smile that crossed my face and sticks there. I'm still pretty proud of my strategy.

His frown is back and annoyance is heavy in his voice when he says, "So you bilked my friends out of this money and expect me to keep it?" When I respond to his annoyance by tugging again at my towel, he says in exasperation, "Can you _please_ put some clothing on?"

Fucking prude. Like I'm going to let some strange guy tell me what to do, especially when his tone seems so laced with implicit judgment. Fuck that. Judge me in my own room? I do the only thing I can think of to even the score and show him who's boss – that's how mad I am – and drop the towel. I cross in front of him naked as the day I was born and oh-so-grateful that I decided to shave today, reach my bed and pull on pink boy short undies with the word _Lucky_ scribbled across my ass and a matching pink bra, jean shorts and a pink T-shirt.

"I don't care what you do with the cash." I say angrily, especially when I see that he's not bothered by my little display at all. Instead of shock on his face, he is tapping a foot and has an eyebrow cocked as if he's barely amused by my tantrum.

Fuck, I'm beginning to hate this guy.

I feel a sudden bout of tears coming on – this is what I get for trying to do something nice for someone. Even if he's right and I did sort of con it out of his friends, they were too stupid or drunk to realize that a girl can be just as good at poker as they are. It's an important lesson for them to learn and learn early.

He reaches into a pocket and thrusts a wad of nicely folded bills at me. "I won't keep it. Here." I feel my anger building at him and I just want to stamp my feet. Nothing is going right for me, nothing. And who is this guy who won't even keep cash from a total stranger that he never has to see again? I'm so busy in my own head using tiny knives to carve him up that I almost miss what he's saying.

"…how did it end up in my pocket?"

It's my turn to cock an eyebrow at him. Ok, Mr. Smooth. Let's see how you deal with this. "I put it there." Yup. I can see his eyes widen a little bit. Evidently, Mr. Smooth doesn't like to have his personal space invaded. I file that piece of information away in case I need it later.

"You just reached into some strange, drunk guy's pocket?" He shakes his head and smirks at me. "You're crazy, you know that? I could be an ax murderer."

I'm done with him and with this conversation. _Strange_ isn't even the word for it. "Yeah, well, that's my cue to kick you out. Thanks for the returning the cash."

He sighs. "Wait. I think I have something else of yours. You must have shoved it in my pocket with the other." He motions to the cash that is now on the bed, reaches back into his pocket and holds something up so the light catches it.

Crap. I have to sit suddenly because I'm lightheaded. I've spent the past week looking for the thing he's holding: it's a keychain picture of a little dark-haired girl dressed up like a Disney Princess. Her eyes are bright as she looks at the camera, holding on tightly to a sixteen year old me. Our smiles could light the room - they could light up eternity - which is a good thing, since this is the last picture of us together before she died. I need to picture her lighting up eternity sometimes, or I'll go insane.

I don't say any of that, though. I hear myself breathlessly say, "Where did you find that?" I reach out for it with a shaking hand.

"I told you: in my pocket with the cash." His voice is gentle. Kind. Pitying. Normally that would piss me off so much that I would have to prove to him that I'm fine but right now I am too close to tears to care. I thought that picture was gone forever, like her. It dawns on me as I stare up at him that I owe him a huge debt.

Fuck.

A knock breaks up our quiet staring contest, punctuated by Finn saying loudly, "Mason, you had better be dressed. I don't even know how to put clothes _on_ a girl…Oh. Hi." He pushes the door open and is not even remotely shocked to find a strange guy in my room and a pile of cash on my bed. He walks over to me and checks me out. "I was sure you were gonna take me up on my offer to shower with you. You know that no woman on the planet can resist the Odair charm forever."

"Oh, please, Finn. I've heard all about your hardwood floors. Just because you want to host a TLC show called Extreme Manscaping doesn't mean I find it appealing." I scoff. I'm starting to feel better already just by holding the keychain. I can actually laugh and I'm suddenly starving. "Finn Odair, this is Brue." They boys hold out hands in that awkward way that boys do when they have nothing in common except getting caught in a girl's room.

"I'm Brue MacLeod." Brue's handshake showcases his sinewy arms. The man is all lean and long and it dawns on me that he's got to be either swimmer or a lacrosse player. Wait. Did he say MacLeod? Like fucking _Highlander_? Of course. I roll my eyes but don't say a word because I am just so relieved and happy and I owe this guy, even if he is probably going to kill us all by cutting off our heads.

Finn's looking at me like he expects at least some sort of input or snark. Perhaps he expects me to explain the guy's presence in my room. Perhaps he's even more curious why some strange guy is in my room and it's not Brian (who he has never met). Whatever it is, Finn finally says, "Are you ready to go grab ice cream? Brue, you're welcome to tag along…"

Which is, of course, penis talk for either "Let's have a three way" or "Scram. She's with me."

It's hard to tell with Finn which one he's going for.

Brue frowns again. I'm beginning to sense that a frown is his normal expression, when he says, "All of your friends are at the frat house. Peet's barbecuing. You should come by." Which sounds like penis talk for "I don't want you, but there's a bunch of people who told me I should drag you along."

I think back to the earlier mental picture of Katniss stuffing a hot dog – barbecued by Peeta – into her mouth. Suddenly, that image holds a tremendous allure and I find myself nodding to Brue. "Yeah. Let's go?" I sneak a glance at Finn because I'm only going if he says yes. If I spend too much alone time with frownie head over here and I might lose my sense of humor for good. And we can't have that, can we?


	3. The Gang

The sight that greets us after the walk to Lambda Chi is pretty telling: Katniss and Gale are laughing, Madge is helping Peeta flip burgers. Peeta keeps glancing Katniss's way and then his eyes skip away when she meets his gaze. It would be funny if it weren't so fucking pathetic.

Katniss waves and Madge smiles when she sees us. Madge looks like a goddess in a soft blue t-shirt that won't stay on her shoulder and showcases both her pale, pale skin and sky blue lingerie. Finn is over there like a heartbeat after the introductions to try to chat her up and it dawns on me as I watch them together that their children would be a whole different race of gorgeous. Like, so hot that people would have to wear sunglasses.

I snap out of it when Peeta asks if I want a dog or a burger. I tell him a cheeseburger loaded with whatever toppings he's got and then go sit next to Katniss. Perversely, because I am still mad at her and because I think Peeta deserves a break, I slide a chair in between her and Gale. Gale sends me a dark, brooding look like he's Michael Stipe or something but Katniss is oblivious to my tactics. I notice that she's actually eating her dinner, which is weird until I take a bite.

Holy. Fuck.

Vegetarians would eat this burger. The meat is juicy and cooked perfectly. It's smothered in onions that are sweet after being sweated until they are almost a paste which contrasts beautifully with the smoky beef flavor. There's some sort of spicy spread on the bun which ties it all together and the bun…the fucking bun is like a work of art. It's got tangy goat cheese or something baked into it and it's soft and the flavor of it all erupts in my mouth with a smoky, sweet, tangy explosion that is like an oral orgasm. Peeta is not a golden retriever. He's not brainless. He's a fucking Bun Bacchus who should be worshipped as a god.

No wonder Everdeen is actually eating. I wonder if Peeta knows that is pretty much akin to any other girl giving him head? He must, because he's watching her take bites with a blush that can't all be due to the heat from the grill.

An hour later I realize the downside of being around a guy who can cook like Peeta does: I'm so full that I can't move. He's pulled out a chocolate cake that's got to be like 5 layers high and has some sort of custard cream in the middle. It's so dark and rich that it's how I imagine anal sex is: really good and titillating as long as it's done slowly and in very small steps. Madge and I can't take more than a bite or two. Katniss shocks me by plowing through an entire piece by herself. Gale picks at his. Finn and Brue both put up a good effort. Peeta savors a piece with a small smile on his face, especially when he sees Katniss actually have to unbutton the top of her shorts because she's so full.

At one point I see Brue and Finn talking and then Finn grins. I hear him say, "I thought I saw you around the pool! You're really good!" Madge says something and all three of them laugh.

Ah. They must be bonding over some water sport – and that's not a euphemism. Did I mention that Finn, epitome of male perfection, is a lifeguard? He used to lifeguard during the summers at home and cashed in on his looks and charm to finagle a part time job at the pool. He says he doesn't need the money but that it's a great place to meet girls.

It's not the thought of Finn's perfectly waxed and bronze chest that makes me get snarky. Rather surprisingly it's the thought of Brue's. I wonder idly if he's as into his manscaping as Finn is. "Oh, are you boys going to compare some weird chlorine burns or something?"

Finn looks down the picnic table at me. "Well, Mason, at least I'm not getting fat."

"Did you just call me fat? I bet you have a roll that hangs over your speedo tomorrow."

"Oh, I have a bulge in my speedo, alright…"

The table laughs. Brue smirks and then excuses himself after thanking Peeta. I wonder if it was something I said, but quickly forget it when we all help Peeta clean up and break into beer pong teams. I love beer pong.

Did I mention I'm competitive?

Peeta and I end up in third place behind the other two couples. Gale and Katniss freaking dominate the game and I have trouble even looking at Madge and Finn who take the strategy of striking these impossible poses to get a laugh out of everyone. I'm glad Madge is playing along and not so untouchable, but I'm also frustrated because we're not _winning_. Peeta apologizes, but I know it's not his fault. The guy can't be great at everything, right? Plus, he's got to be exhausted after making that meal, so I punch him on the shoulder and tell him it's ok. He grins and we move on to darts, where we don't play in teams.

Everdeen wipes the floor with all of us including Brue, who has rejoined us, and Gale. At least watching Gale pout puts me in a better mood, but I'm restless and I want something more. I text Brian and we make plans to hook up.

I must have a certain look on my face because Finn comments on it. "That must be Brian. Johanna only gets that particular look when there's a booty call underway."

"Who's Brian?" Gale asks. I forgot that poor Gale has no idea that he was a stand in last weekend.

Katniss laughs. "That's Jo's boyfriend." At Gale's slightly queasy look, she explains, "They have sort of a break up and make up thing going on." He looks relieved and I wonder if she suspects why he might be interested.

_No, Gale, he's not going to come here and kick your ass._

She continues on, "He's Navy ROTC."

Brue scoffs, "Ah. Another wanna be jet-jockey?"

"No. Actually he wants to go for subs." I don't know why I feel the need to defend him.

Brue doesn't let it go. "Isn't that like being in close quarters with a bunch of guys for months at a time?" Finn high-fives him in an annoying show of overly hetero camaraderie.

I glare. "Oh? Because that's so different from a frat house?" I lock eyes with Brue's blue ones and I wonder if he can see the middle finger I'm throwing him with my mind. He must because he scowls in my direction.

I belatedly realize I've just insulted half of the table. _Fuck, Mason. Don't be a douche._ "I mean, he's just like you guys."

Katniss gives me a pointed look. "Then how come he doesn't hang out with us?"

She's not wrong. Everdeen's only seen Brian at all because we live in the same dorm. He and I don't hang out. We don't really even date. We just text each other and meet up places on campus, then make it back to his room because his roommate is usually out all night partying. All of that should probably make me feel bad or nervous or like a tramp or something, but it doesn't: I love the relationship that he and I have because there is zero relationship bullshit. Well, except for the break-ups. Those are as real as a heart attack.

I don't have an answer for her, so I just shrug. "Maybe we're so much in love that I don't want to share him." I'm proud that I can say it with a straight face, especially when Finn laughs so hard that beer comes out of his nose.

"Love, Mason? You? Come on, now." He laughs.

I shoot him another "Fuck you, Finn" and get up to head back to the dorm. I ask Peeta if I can talk to him for a second.

When I pull him aside, I say quietly,"Dude, kudos for getting into Everdeen's pants. I bet that's a first." He looks at me quizzically. "You know she doesn't just pop a button for anyone, right?" Peeta blushes and rubs the back of his neck. Part of me wants to hug him and part of me wants to wallop him. _Get some game, man!_ I get down to the question I need to ask him. "You've got her tonight, right? You'll make sure she gets back to the dorm safely?" I'm dead serious about this and I know he picks up on it when I meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I can do that. But she might just hang out with Hawthorne all night." He sighs.

_What are you, fucking Eeyore?_ I shake my head vehemently. "I don't care who she hangs out with. Promise me that you'll be her wingman?" I don't let on that I don't trust Gale to look out for her the same way I trust Peeta: Gale looks like he would happily trade his autographed Lita Ford poster for a chance at Everdeen's V-card.

He sighs heavily again, obviously knowing what I'm after. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll keep an eye out and make sure she gets home."

I'm not sure, but I think I hear him mumble _I am such an idiot_ as I depart for a night of debauchery.

-o-

The guys have bonded over a business class they have in common so, true to most guy friendships, they have downloaded all necessary information and shared it amongst the collective. Obviously, Finn should have remained the odd man out, especially once the cheerleading thing came out and offended their delicate hetero sensibilities. Once Gale and company discovered, though, that he could be an asset with the ladies, his honorary membership into their clique was complete.

We're at the frat house blowing off a little steam by playing a friendly game of basketball. And by friendly game, I mean that we're playing balls-out…because…say it with me…

I'm competitive. Yeah. Glad you're catching on.

The guys are shirtless - except for Peeta -and the October Los Angeles sun reflects off their sweat-drenched torsos. It's blinding in the same way the volleyball scene from _Top Gun_ is: who wants to look away when there's that much good-looking flesh exposed? All we need are some mirrored sunglasses and dog tags and the scene would be perfect.

They have decided that we should play girls vs. boys. Katniss and I have Finn on our team because he is still taking heat over being a cheerleader. It's fine by me, though: he's just as competitive as I am and, evidently, so is Everdeen. Which is great because Gale is crazy-smart by having Peeta block her, anticipating that she won't know what to do with that. I would be laughing my head off at the two of them because Peeta can't take his eyes off of Katniss's little tank-top if I didn't want to kick some ass so badly. It's freaking adorable. I think Gale may have underestimated Everdeen, though, because she's body checking Peeta as much as she's doing the same to Gale and Brue. If not more-so. Every time her sweaty body collides with his, I can see Peeta's control slip just a teeny bit from the shock of it.

Poor guy's gonna have to jerk off after this, I'm sure. Or take the coldest shower on the planet.

I'm not much better off. Brue's shirtless chest is sweaty and tan, his muscles shifting in a way that would be mesmerizing if I let it. Between his long limbed grace, Gale's height and Peeta's solid wall of muscle, we're unable to put up a decent score and I'm mad that he's even able to have that effect on me. _Bastard_. So what if he's got butterscotch discs for nipples and I just want to nibble….

_Easy, Jo. Easy. Focus on the ball._

They can't wipe the court with us, they just can't. Especially because we're attracting attention, what with Finn also being shirtless. Coeds of both varieties are scattered around the front yard of the frat house, watching us sweat while they drink beer. There is no fucking way I am going to let this trio of buffoons ruin our street cred because of this game. We need a glorious showboat of a play to put us on the map because, if there's one thing that cheerleading has taught me, it's that people remember swagger.

Finn catches my eye. He must see the stubborn set of my jaw or the flash of my eyes or maybe we're psychically fucking connected, because he nods once. I wipe my sweaty forehead and I notice Peeta do the same, using his shirt and showing a scar just visible on his lower back. It's large and round and holds my attention for a second until the ball bounces back into play and Katniss is all over him. She's doing a totally illegal hold: her hands are actually inside the waistband of his shorts and he's frozen in place with wide eyes.

Finn's anticipates the pass to Peeta and intercepts the ball to takes off down the court. I give chase. I'm faster than Gale, even though he has a longer gait, so I make it down court before anyone but Finn. As I approach I hear him yell, "Tight and light." I nod once and barrel toward him at full force. He bounces the ball extra high and at the same time weaves his fingers into a rudimentary basket for my foot. I find purchase and am flung toward the basket, grabbing the bouncing ball as I soar upward. I dunk it and hang off the rim for a second or two before dropping to the court.

And the crowd goes fucking wild.

I turn to Finn, grin and yell, "I feel the need…"

Finn finishes the thought by adding, "…the need for speed." and we high and low-five. Katniss laughes and joins in.

Everyone's clapping and laughing. Well, everyone except for Brue, Gale, and Peeta. I suppose Peeta could still be smiling from the feel of Everdeen's hands in his pants. I snort a little at Katniss's boldness and the heady feeling of the giant Fuck You I have dealt out. My smile is so wide I'm sure I look like Mary Lou Retton.

"What was that?" Gale yells, emphatically gesturing to the basket.

Finn laughs heartily, arm slung over my shoulder. I swear I can hear a few coeds moan as he flexes his naked pecs. "That's a variation on a basket toss. We've been doing that stunt since cheerleading camp freshman year of high school."

Gale yanks his t-shirt back on. "That's illegal. And nice rim-job Mason."

I stick my tongue out at him. "It's one of my specialties."

"I bet." He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

We glare at each other but I can't help but burst into another huge smile which just makes his scowl worse.

Brue finally punches Gale in the arm, "Dude, they still lost. Don't be a sore winner." He shrugs his shoulders, calling attention to his rippling back. I feel my face go slack.

I turn away to find Katniss pulling on a t-shirt and Finn chatting up the local color. As in he's practically wearing one of the girls like a sweater. I swear that she would lick the sweat off his chest if he asked.

"Mason!" He yells. "Kristin here doesn't believe that I was a cheerleader." He holds a hand over his heart like he's wounded. I know, though, that it's simply to call attention to his perfect smooth chest. The lovely Kristin doesn't stand a chance. "Feel like a little Toss Hand Full with a So Cal Spell Out?"

I roll my eyes. What Finn wants to do is show off: he wants me to stand in front of him and then he'll bounce me up to his hands at shoulder height. Then he'll extend his arms all the way up so they are fully extended. We'll do a cheer and then I'll bounce down and he'll look like a freaking giant among men. But then I look over my shoulder at Brue, who is watching us with a knowing grin. Like he's doing me a favor by keeping Gale off my back by not making a bigger deal about our lack of sportsmanship.

_Fuck you, Brue._ And that rhymes. Even better.

I nod and walk over to Finn. He grabs my waist and the old habits just snap into place. We bounce once (light), again (tight) and then the third bounce has me flying. He catches the soles of my feet on his flat palms perfectly at chest height. I'm locked tight so that there's no movement or balance issues for him to deal with. And here's where it gets cool: we effortlessly bounce once more and he extends his arms. I'm like a million feet tall. I can touch the freaking sun. My smile is huge and I can't help but yell, "S. O. U. T. HERN C. A. L. I. FORNIA Southern California!"

What's even more awesome is that every coed in the yard yells it with me, until I feel the sound echoing in my breast bone. I triumphantly raise my victory fingers in the air for a two count, then dismount with Finn holding my waist to slow my downward velocity.

Kristin looks at Finn like he's a god when he smiles at her; she doesn't stand a chance.

I glance over at Brue but he's gone.

-o-

We're walking back from the frat house still sweaty and gross when I realize I have to detour to the Health Center or my R.A. Effie will kill me: it's time for the monthly condom run. Once Effie realized that walking around on campus with a box of a thousand condoms didn't freak me out, she's sent me to retrieve them for her. And today is as good a day as any. I just hope that Katniss doesn't mind a little round-about route back to the dorm.

"What was up with you and Peeta back there?" I can't help but ask. She had been pretty fierce on the court, but there was a different kind of handsy that came into play while she was guarding Peeta. "I saw your hands on his waistband and thought the poor guy was going to blow his wad right there."

Katniss wrinkles her nose. "Jo, that's gross. Nothing. There's nothing going on." She shrugs and goes quiet and begins fiddling with her hair.

_Ah, the Everdeen tell._

"Mmmhhmmm. What about you and Gale?" I glance at her. I know this is dangerous territory because she could call me on having slept with him a couple of weeks ago.

She flicks her braid back over her shoulder. "What about us? He's my best friend."

"Word on the street is that you're in love with him." I wince. I'm sure I could be more tactful if I tried. I put that on my list of things to work on someday. For now, I figure that Everdeen is only going to get the question if I'm as subtle as a sledgehammer.

She sighs. "Do I need to answer this?"

"If you don't, I'm making you carry a box of a thousand condoms." I'm completely serious.

"Jo, you suck. Ok. I…I used to think I felt something for him. We were always together, you know? Everyone just assumed that we would hook up." She's chewing her lip thoughtfully.

I prompt her as I try to understand. "But you didn't? You were in school with him and had opportunities, right?" I don't even understand it: she had motive and opportunity. Why not seal the deal?

She nods, slowly. "We didn't. I don't know. I guess I didn't want him as much as everyone thought I _should_ want him. And now that we're here… there's a lot more going on here than there was in my home town."

"…Like Peeta?" I face her while the front desk goes to retrieve my box of safety equipment.

Katniss blushes and smoothes a hair back into place. "He lifted his shirt up today. He… he never did that at home. And we had gym together all four years."

"Never? What about when you guys went swimming? Was his manly chest what made you reach into his pants?" I sign for the box and we make our way home. I get a few choice looks on the way. Like I'm carrying my own party-in-a-box.

She whacks me hard on the shoulder. "I did not reach into his pants." She thinks for a minute. "I don't think Peeta swims. At least, he never came to the lake with us during the summer. I just… he's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I'm really curious. Figuring out what makes Katniss Everdeen tick is like one of my calculus problems: maddening but fascinating. I can see why she's a psych major if this is the sort of information she wants to know.

"I don't know. He's…nice. And he's very careful and polite." She says it like it's a question.

"Solicitous, you mean? Yeah, he is. Particularly of you." Even clueless Everdeen over here has picked up on it? _Hallelujah_. "Are you interested?"

We're back at our dorm and I need to take the box to Effie. But I want Katniss to answer this last question. I've been pushing the two of them together pretty hard and I want to know if I'm making her uncomfortable. It's not fun if it really pisses her off. God forbid she replace my KY with Icy Hot or something…

She looks at me blankly and I can tell she's way out of her league. Like she doesn't even have language for what she's thinking.

I tap my toe impatiently. "Look, you don't have to get married or jump in the sack with him tomorrow. I just want to know if my teasing is going to make you kill me in my sleep."

Katniss frowns as if she is going to say something serious. Almost immediately, her frown clears and she laughs. "Johanna Mason, are you asking me for permission to josh with me? Because you care?"

"Fuck you, Everdeen."

"Aw, Jo. That's sweet."

"Seriously. Fuck. You."

I stride away from our room towards Effie's while Katniss is still laughing but I hear her yell, "Hey, Jo…I'll allow it."

I grin. _Let the games begin!_


	4. Breaking the Ice

The gang is hanging out in our dorm room after dinner one night when Madge gets the bright idea to go on a fountain run. For those of you who have never partaken, this is where you go wading/swimming in the fountains on campus (or any other public place) without getting caught. Usually at night. Usually without swimwear.

I grimace the minute she brings it up and opt out, explaining that I don't swim. I see Finn frown at me like he wants to say something or contradict, so I turn to rifle through my drawers and pull out a couple of extra towels to donate to the group effort.

"I can't swim either, Jo. You should come anyway." Peeta takes the towels from me with a smile, confirming what Everdeen said on our walk.

 _He can't fucking swim? Who grows up not knowing how to swim?_ I have to stop and recall that Peeta, Gale, Katniss and Madge grew up somewhere back east, without the easy access to the ocean that Finn and I and Brue have had growing up in Southern California. Hell, Finn and I both have pools.

I shake my head. I don't want them to know that I can swim perfectly well. I just…I choose not to.

The group leaves with whoops and hollers and I regret my choice for a moment. Finally, I grab my backpack and make my way upstairs to Brian's room to "study". I'm sure I'll get some lessons in physics, at least…

Two hours later and I hope vehemently that no one is in my room. _Fucking Brian._ Why do I let him talk me into these things? It seemed like a good idea at the time: a little chocolate sauce, some naked skin, a trash bag so that it didn't get all over his room….But when he poured it all over me instead of using discretion, some things became readily apparent. One, no amount of gentle licking or sucking can fight the sticky viscosity of Hershey's syrup in large quantities. Two, deciding to power through it and continuing to be frisky results in two people stuck together more painfully that when wearing short-shorts and sitting on a faux leather car interior on a hot day. Three, Hershey's syrup acts like Gorilla Glue and fuses a trash bag to bare skin. Four, removing said trash bag results in discomfort akin to a bikini wax.

_Fucking Brian._

So I am walking down the stairs to get to my dorm room wearing hastily donned clothing and hoping that Tide will remove the Hershey's syrup reside sticking to my favorite shorts and t-shirt and that Everdeen isn't sitting at her desk doing homework. She'll never let me hear the end of it if she's home.

I know I'm in trouble when I get to the door and it's slightly ajar. I can hear voices and I have no choice but to push forward: I can't exactly shower on Brian's all-boys floor, can I? I'm fucked.

The door creaks open louder than the one in the Thriller video and I swear every single eye swings my way when I walk in the room. The conversation stops. Finn takes one look at me, hops off the bed and saunters over. He runs a finger under my jawline and raises it to his lips.

"Chocolate, Jo?" He licks his finger and cocks an eyebrow. "Did Brian want a little dessert? I can see why you didn't want to come with us. Who wouldn't trade hanging out for some good, _clean_ fun?"

I want to fucking deck him. I can't believe I'm standing in front of people holding my underwear and basically shrink wrapped into the rest of my clothing with an ice cream topping acting as a fusing agent. I throw him the dirtiest look I can muster and walk over to pull my bathrobe and shower stuff out of my closet. I have to be careful not to let my robe brush up against any part of my body or it too will be contaminated.

Katniss is looking at me with the widest eyes I think I've ever seen. "What, brainless?" I spit at her.

She blinks. "N…nothing." I can hear the tremble in her voice. She wants to fucking laugh. I glare at her.

Peeta is staring at the ceiling. Gale's shoulders are already shaking. Madge has a hand covering her mouth. And Brue….Brue is smirking that fucked up smirk. Like he knows more than the rest of us or has done more than the rest of us. It makes me want to stomp on his foot when I walk past him and stride to the showers.

I'm vigorously soaping myself for the third time using water so hot I might blister when I hear a voice from beyond the shower curtain: it's Madge.

"Jo? We weren't laughing at you." When I don't answer, she continues, "We missed you during the fountain hop. It's not as much fun if you're not there." More quietly, she adds, "Katniss and I don't know what to do with the guys like you do. You make everything easier. It's so easy for the guys to be friends with you."

I shut off the water and dry myself. _What the hell? Friends with a guy? With guys?_ I'm not sure I even know what to do with a guy if I'm not trying to get into his pants. And Finn doesn't count.

She keeps talking, "I'm serious, you know. You know how to talk to guys – it's obvious that you're a guy's gal. Finn, Gale, and Peeta can all talk and joke around with you. How do you do that?"

 _I think like I have a dick._ I slide into my bathrobe in silence and dry my hair, making sure that I got all of the chocolate out of it.

I hear her sigh. "Plus, Brian is literally eating you up. What's it like to have a guy who is so into you? You have Brian and Katniss has Peeta. Gale barely looks at me, let alone treats me like we're in 9 ½ Weeks."

 _Hm. I hadn't thought of it that way._ I push open the shower curtain to find Madge playing with her hair and sitting on a bench at the end of the row of showers.

"What the fuck's the deal with Peeta and Gale and you and Katniss, anyway?" I can't help but ask. It has nothing to do with the stench of chocolate I swear I can still feel blocking my pores, but it's a question worth asking.

Madge shrugs sheepishly. "Gale wanted Katniss. I wanted Gale. Peeta wanted Katniss."

"Is this fucking _Twilight_?" I ask and Madge laughs.

"Jo, how big was your high school? If you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't know… five hundred kids in my class. Maybe two thousand in the whole school?"

She shakes her head. "We have six thousand people _in our whole town._ Think about that: everyone knows everyone. Heck, most of us are related! I'm sure in your high school, you had loads of gorgeous guys but, for me, the pickings were relatively small. The fact that all four of us got out together is remarkable. I would never talk tales about her, but the fact that Katniss got out at all is a miracle."

"I still don't get it. Katniss said that she had plenty of opportunity to jump Gale and it just never happened. And I don't get why Peeta never asked her out. Or you…look at you? You're gorgeous. It never dawned on your to use your feminine wiles on Gale?"

Madge gestures to the pile of clothing that smells like Nestle threw up. "We're not all adventurous like you are, Jo. Plus, in our tiny town, the lines between who you date and who you don't are pretty structured. I was the Mayor's daughter and Gale was from the wrong side of town. Katniss was the same way for Peeta. Coming to USC has been a big adjustment for all of us."

I look at her in her lavender t-shirt, face all soft focus in the mist from the showers. The girl never looks bad. Never. There's never a hair out of place. She's like a wet dream for most guys and Gale never went for her…. then it dawns on me: they're not home anymore. Just like Katniss, she doesn't necessarily have the vocabulary to ask for what she wants. But her big, pansy colored eyes tell me that she wants to learn.

_Holy shit. Gale and Peeta are never going to know what hit them._

We head back to a quiet dorm room to find Katniss reading a book on her bed. The guys are gone. I dump my clothes next to my hamper so they don't pollute the other laundry and Katniss sits up.

"You know we weren't laughing…"

"Yeah. Madge already said that."

Katniss has a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. "Finn left you something." She motions to my bed where I spy a quart of milk and a note that says _have fun with the leftovers._ The whole thing is too ridiculous and I start to giggle. _Fucking Finn._

Katniss and Madge laugh with me. Madge adds in mid-giggle, "Wasn't that s-sweet of him?"

We chuckle. Katniss adds, "Does Brian call you honey?" and a fresh round of laughter takes us.

Madge adds, "No! No! I bet he calls her sweet..sweetheart."

We're laughing so hard I have tears coming out of my eyes when my cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my chocolate lined shorts. I gingerly fish it out and a fresh bout of laughter overtakes me. I take deep breaths so I can stop laughing enough to speak. "It's Bri…Brian. He wants me to get my candy…candy-ass back upstairs."

Katniss is literally rolling around on the bed holding her sides. Madge isn't doing any better, hunched over as she tries to suck air into her lungs. And me? It feels good to laugh with other girls. I haven't done it in such a long time that I hadn't realized I missed it.

"Let's tell the guys that we had a pillow fight." Madge says after she gains her breath.

Katniss chuckles and wipes her face. "Oh, I bet Gale would love that."

"Or Finn. He would be so upset that he missed it." I put the milk in our micro-fridge, shuddering when I see my own bottle of Hershey's syrup. I won't be trying food play again anytime soon.

Madge recovers enough to ask seriously, "Are we ok? The three of us? I don't have a lot of girl friends and I can't afford to lose the best ones I've got." When I nod she says, "Pinkie Swear?"

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ I hold my pinkie out anyway, as does Katniss. I look up from our linked fingers to find we're all grinning at each other like idiots: it's the best moment I've had since coming to school. _Friends._

-o—

Dinners at the frat house have become a thing for our little gang and we've settled into a routine of heading over there early and helping Peeta cook. We're heading to the frat house for our normal Tuesday night dinner when I tell the group we need to make a pit-stop at the grocery store across from campus.

Katniss groans. "Please don't make me miss out on Shepard's Pie. And I think he said éclairs for dessert."

… _Another fucking menu!_ I picture Katniss stuffing five inches of cream filled goodness into her mouth and snort. I swear that Peeta is getting more provocative in his food choices on purpose. "Like Peeta wouldn't save you some. Seriously." I can't fault her for it, though. My mouth is already watering from the beef gravy-laden, potato crusted goodness that I am sure awaits us. Since starting these dinners, I've had to pare down on the amount that I allow myself to eat or risk not being able to move for the entire night. They are alarmingly tasty, but like an anti-aphrodisiac. I wonder if that's why Peeta's never made a move on Katniss: maybe he just eats way too well.

Madge even chimes in with, "Yeah, Katniss. Now that the guy knows that you like to eat, I bet he thinks it's his personal mission to make all of your favorites."

Katniss glares at us both as we approach the doorway to the Thirty Second Street Market. Her glare melts into a frown as we pass a woman and a small child at the entrance. The woman holds a small sign asking for spare change. By the time we are inside the store, standing between the panaderia and the liquor section, Everdeen has stopped completely and is chewing her lip.

"What? Spill it." I'm cranky. I need to get a couple of tubs of chocolate frosting, some pudding cups and a large bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, STAT.

Katniss shakes her head slowly, her braid swishing across her black t-shirt. "That little girl…she just reminded me of my sister."

Madge nods. "I can see the resemblance. Wasn't Prim about that age when your Dad died?"

"What?" I'm looking from one to the other of them like they are insane. Can't they see that I want to get my junk food so that I can pre-pay the uterine gods and keep them appeased? The only things better than chocolate and salt-and-vinegar chips for my PMS are multiple orgasms that last three days. And I plan on working on those later tonight.

Madge is the one who puts into words why Katniss looks queasy and is playing with the end of her braid nervously. "Katniss's Dad died when she was little and left her and her sister to fend for themselves."

 _Fuck._ All I can picture is a scene from _Annie._ "What about your Mom?" I ask Katniss. I can't believe she's never said anything. And all those times I ragged on Prim or berated Katniss for studying so hard…what was it Madge had said? _Katniss was lucky to make it out of our home town at all?_

I've never heard this tone of voice from Katniss, "She checked out. Prim and I…we made it work."

My PMS is utterly forgotten. I grip the keychain in my pocket tightly when I think about Katniss taking care of her younger sister. "…And now?"

"She's better; she's on medication for it. Prim's ok." The fierceness of her voice makes an answering tremor rocket through me. It tells me that she would move heaven and earth for her sister, no matter what the circumstances. She would never, ever let anything happen to Prim.

 _I used to feel that same way._ I feel tears gather behind my eyelids.

_Fucking PMS._

Madge gently asks Katniss a question that I only half hear. "…want to go and give them some money?"

"No," I exclaim, louder than I intend, "She could be a junkie or an alcoholic. No." There are homeless people around school all the time holding signs. I don't want to encourage anything where Katniss is giving money to someone who might just turn around and channel it the wrong way. She works too hard and I know her family still needs every penny.

Madge and Katniss both turn to look at me. I see Madge's eyes hold pity, like she can't believe I have zero faith in humanity. Katniss's just look sad. Like she can't stop thinking of the little kid outside: of her home life or what her next meal is going to be.

_Wait._

"You're worried about the kid, right?" I wait while Katniss nods. I stride over to the carts and pull one out, nodding, "Ok. I have an idea." I explain what I'm thinking: we quickly come up with a game-plan and pool our cash. Madge and Katniss agree that I should be the one to approach the woman, although I gape at them like they are insane. _Yeah, right. Because I'm the one with the soft touch. Not._ Madge says it's because I'm street smart and it will put the woman at ease to have someone explain things to her in an upfront manner. I snort, but do as I'm told.

Ten minutes later, our weird little group is pushing a cart through the market. The woman cautiously asks for every single thing she wants before she puts it in the cart as if we are the weirdest guardian angels imaginable. The woman explains that her daughter (her name is Jasmine) eats lunch and breakfast at school. They only have a small refrigerator where they stay, so she has to be mindful of perishables. She has a job but has to make every penny stretch to cover rent, transportation, and after school care costs even with state aid. She sounds like she is apologizing to us for needing the help.

Part of me wants to tell her that we shouldn't be helping her and she should be able to take care of herself. But every time I look at Katniss and Jasmine, I think of my own sister and Katniss's words from earlier: this little girl deserves to eat.

Katniss plays with Jasmine – games like I-Spy and matching games. I notice the woman's hands trembling when she picks up certain things: bread. A half-gallon of milk. I wonder how long it's been since she's had all of these groceries at once. By the time she reaches for a whole chicken, pausing and asking if it's ok for what feels like the hundredth time, I want to scream. I know that Katniss is doing a good thing so I hold it in and trudge behind the cart silently.

Madge must know that I'm frustrated with how long this is all taking because she starts suggesting items like canned vegetables, mac and cheese, canned tuna fish. We ask about toiletries such as laundry soap or shampoo. Toothpaste. Deodorant. We add my paltry items to the cart when we get to that aisle, keeping them in the seat part so they get bagged separately. The little girl looks amazed at the amount of food in the cart. I belatedly hope that her Mother can carry all of it to wherever they are going.

When we're all paid up and the groceries are bagged, the woman watches as Jasmine hugs us all and then reaches for each of our hands. I let her hold mine, aware of the racing of my pulse: I don't want to be here. She looks at each of us and squeezes our fingers, telling us that God will bless each of us.

 _No, he won't. Not me._ I turn away.

Katniss and Madge wave goodbye to the little family and then we go quietly on our way.

-o-

Finnick is laughing at us. "You three are fucking Flora, Fauna and Merryweather!"

I'm starting to feel back to normal after our bizarre interlude at the grocery store, so I laugh along with him. I'm pretty sure it's the only time in my life I'll be compared to a Disney fairy godmother. Brue smiles, as do the girls. Only Gale is frowning.

We're standing in the kitchen of the frat house. Brue is wearing an apron and explains that Peeta will be a little late because he had an appointment. It's a good look for him. _Like anything is a bad look for him?_ I sigh and he shoots me a questioning look while the conversation continues around us.

"Why did you have to stop at the market?" Finn takes a look in the bag. "Ohhhhh…." he holds up a tub of frosting, "riding the crimson tide soon, Jo?"

Brue actually joins the conversation, which makes me want to shoot a rubber band right at Finn's eye. "I don't get it. What's with the frosting? Somebody making a cake?"

Finn snorts. "No. See, Johanna has this thing where she eats a whole tub of frosting and a bag of chips while she PMSs. She also endangers the life of any guy she's dating: from what I hear she's like a succubus. Poor guys have to recover for weeks."

"Oh, I'm going to suck the life out of him, alright. You're just afraid you couldn't keep up." I quip. I'm not even mortified he's sharing this with the room because it's all pretty much true.

"Not even I would take you up on that challenge this week." He gives a fake shudder and I laugh.

Gale doesn't laugh. In fact, he still looks lost in thought. "Let's get back to this crazy stunt at the market. You have no idea who that woman was, Catnip. She should be strong enough to do it on her own. The way we did." Gale comes down on her severely.

"There's nothing wrong with someone asking for help." Madge says levelly.

"Said like someone who's never had to ask for it." He hurls at her. It's unnecessarily harsh.

No matter how I felt about the event at the time, I still defend Katniss and Madge. I open my mouth but Katniss beats me to it. "There was a little girl who needed to it."

Gale snorts "It's probably not even her little girl."

Madge crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Like someone's going to sell cans of tuna or a half gallon of milk for crack or something? Gale, you have no faith in humanity."

"That's easy for you to say, sheltered little princess that you are." Gale's eyes flash.

I see the hurt that ghosts across Madge's face and I can begin to recognize some of the fucked up reasons that they haven't ended up together. It makes me want to carve him up with a knife. A plastic one. _Who the fuck does he think he is to judge?_ Madge walks out of the back door and I follow her. It's not that I want to help her or anything, I just want to keep myself from slamming the palm of my hand upwards into Gale's nose. Katniss must think the same thing because she follows us out after pinning him with a glare.

"He's a prick." I say when I get to the backyard and find Madge leaning against the house.

"He's a dickhead." Katniss says.

"Fucking asshole." I say. "You're not a princess. You're at least a queen."

The three of us laugh and it completely relieves the tension.

"He's an idiot." Madge says. This makes me laugh even harder because it's probably the worst thing Madge can come up with. I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. Maybe it's my PMS talking, but I want only good things to happen to these girls. They deserve it. And anyone who even thinks otherwise should get fucked up the ass with a cactus.

Ok, maybe it is my PMS.

A guy walking a motorcycle up the driveway catches the attention of all three of us. He's clad in black leathers and a black helmet. His bike is a crotch rocket designed to get him killed in Los Angeles traffic. He's fucking _hot_. Now, I realize that I say that about a lot of guys, and it's true that my PMS does make it so that just straddling his motorcycle would get me off. I swear, though, that as the guy dismounts the bike and the pants he's wearing cup his ass, it gets about ten degrees hotter. I have a mental flash of a faceless rider taking me from behind while I'm astride it. Even Madge is quietly appreciating the scenery.

So when he takes off his helmet and flings his wavy blonde hair, I recoil like I've been slapped. _It's fucking Peeta._ I can't help leaning over and grabbing Katniss's arm. "Will you _please_ fucking hit that? Just so the rest of us know that it's been done and done well? That guy is a like a walking porno."

He looks over at us, waves, and flashes those dimples. _Fuck._ Katniss doesn't answer because she's slack jawed just staring at him as he locks up the bike.

I wonder when she's going to act on the fact that she comes to the frat house for more than just the food.

"Hi, guys. Sorry I'm running late. I'm just gonna run upstairs and grab a quick shower, then we can eat." He rubs the back of his neck under his leather jacket and heads inside. I watch Katniss follow him with hungry eyes.

I stare at my nails and say lazily, "You know, you could just go upstairs and help him wash his back."

Madge laughs, "Guys on bikes are hot enough that there might be a line." Katniss hits me on the arm but the look on her face is thoughtful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: There are people for whom gap coverage is a real problem. For more information about making a difference with your own small change, check out www dot modestneeds dot org. It's a great organization.)


	5. Meeting Halfway

We've entered a deadly week in my dorm: I'll call it _Resident Evil_ : Uterus. It's the week were my own organ tries to burst forth from my body a la an _Aliens_ face sucker, killing me in the process and infecting anyone it happens latches onto. I've escalated from eating icing straight-from-the-tub, to icing with sprinkles and chocolate sauce mixed with Pepperidge Farm Goldfish pretzels in an effort to appease my hormones. What I want, what I really want more than I can say, is sex. Hot, steamy, can't-walk for a week whimpering sex. And I'm not talking about sex where pleasure comes in gentle waves. I'm talking about bruises on my hips and wrists, bite marks, the works.

There's only one problem: Brian doesn't like crime scene sex. Not even anal is interesting to him. Frankly, the thought of it scares me a little, but this is one of those weeks where I would totally go for it if he so much as expressed an interest.

What makes it truly hellish though is that, while my own uterus is throbbing to a heavy beat like Tupac's _California Love_ , the rest of my floor is PMSing. That means Everdeen and Undersee and fifty other girls are just hitting the raging hormones that require intravenous chocolate and a continuous stream of movies like _Dear John_. I allow myself one day a month to wallow in my cramps, etc. because I can't handle the walking dead that is my dorm during this week for any longer than that.

Madge, Katniss and I are hanging out in our room watching _Beastly_ for like the fifty thousandth time today. We're all still in our pajamas, even though it's after noon. Katniss is hugging her pillow, sniffling into a Kleenex. I'm not sure if it's because she believes Vanessa Hudgins can't act or if she just loves the scene we're watching where he's following her around like some crazy super-tatted stalker. Whatever. Madge looks like she stepped out of a freaking Always pad commercial: her lilac colored linen pajamas are barely creased, her hair is perfect, and her skin glows like fucking birds or deer were outside her window ready to give her a facial at the crack of dawn.

Seriously. I think she was sent to be my friend just to teach me some humility.

Anyway, evidently Madge loves her some tatt-ed dark and brooding guys. Which, come to think of it, explains a lot about her attraction to Gale. She's watching the screen like she could tear Alex Pettyfer right from it. All three of us are silent, except for the sniffling and my uterus is making "Feed me Seymour" noises like from _Little Shop of Horrors._ Maybe I'm just imagining that last part.

There's a knock on the slightly ajar door and then something comes sailing into the room. It's a good thing that Katniss has really strong reflexes, because the flying bag of Ghirardelli chocolate chips would have clipped her on the head otherwise. And who really needs a chocolate concussion?

"What the fuck, Finn. You almost took off Katniss's head." I pause the movie as the door swings open: Peeta is holding a couple of grocery bags and practically waving a white flag while Finn is moving towards us in an army crawl. _Is that a bag of M &M's and a bunch of Fun Dip packing-taped to his chest? _

"Peeta is your Red Shirt on this expedition?" I throw a pillow a Finn's head.

"Ooh, a pillow fight?" Finn, looking hopeful, sits up and throws the pillow back at me. "I had to bring a crew member who could be sacrificed to the hormonal masses."

"God, you're an ass." I start tapping my foot after I catch the pillow and clutch it to my mid-section.

"Oh, that's right. It's a red letter week for you, right Mason?" I narrow my eyes at him but he laughs. "Get up. All three of you. Peeta's going to make us some cookies. You guys have a kitchen downstairs, right?" Finn's right; my dorm does have a public kitchen where we can make meals. No one ever uses it.

My uterus forces me to ask, "What kind?"

Finn just shakes his head, "Did my time on a cheerleading squad with a bunch of women teach me nothing? Chocolate chip, of course." We're up and I'm throwing on flip flops or slippers or whatever is handy before he finishes the word "chip".

-o—

We are hanging out and waiting for a couple of cookie sheets to come out of the oven. Peeta's got a nice little system going on: Madge and Katniss and I mix while he supervises and measures. Finn plops the cookies on the sheets and Peeta times the baking. The whole thing is moving along swimmingly well and we're eating cookies as soon as they are cool enough to handle. Even my uterus has been long satisfied with the cookies and milk that we've been guzzling for the past two hours. Finn's been hitting on Madge, which is hilarious to watch, and telling stories about outrageous things we did at camp together. Peeta's sneaking glances at Katniss and the way her tank top straps slide just a little when she moves a certain way. _If that boy licks his lips one more time..._

Madge and Katniss excitedly decide they want to make another double batch, probably because they are completely hyper from a couple dozen cookies each. They look bummed when Peeta explains that we're out of ingredients until Finn says that he's happy to take them to the store for another batch of what he is calling _Cramper Dampers_. We all laugh and there's an argument about whether Madge can leave the dorm looking the way she does - _oh, please_. Finn wins by telling her that she is gorgeous.

Peeta sneaks a look at Katniss like he wants to say something when Katniss renders him speechless: she walks over to him and asks for help taking off her apron with some bullshit story about how the knot is too tight for her to unravel. Once Peeta has it off of her, she grabs the last cookie, leans into Peeta and says in a voice I've never heard before, "Thanks for a great idea, Peeta. Share the last cookie with me?" She holds the cookie up to his mouth so he can take a bite, then finishes the rest before shooting him a smile and wandering out the door.

"Chew and swallow." I cross to the sink and put our bowls and stuff inside so we can clean up.

"What?" He pulls his eyes from the door.

"Chew. Otherwise you'll choke." I shake my head and laugh. "Remind me to high-five her when she gets back."

He rubs his eyes and crosses over to help me wash and dry. "What the hell just happened?"

"I think you just met Everdeen's uterus. Welcome to PMS: where we're emotional and have voracious appetites of all kinds." I wink at him and he laughs.

"This is why I'm glad I grew up with brothers."

"Yeah, me too. I'm the oldest of four - all brothers." I leave out any mention of a younger sister.

Peeta grins and points to himself, "Youngest of three."

"That explains a lot about why you have no game. Youngest kids have it all handed to them on a platter."

I can't tell what I've said that makes Peeta laugh so hard, but he can't seem to shut it off. "Yeah, I had it so easy."

-o—

It's a little later during our cleaning and straightening that Peeta finally breaks the silence. "You and Finn have such a great relationship. You can tell each other anything." He sounds envious.

"Where's your best friend?" It's obviously not Gale and I'm curious; Madge had said that their home town was small.

"Delly stayed in-state for school. I miss her. She always helped me with the girl's perspective on things." He sighs.

"What about Brue? You guys seem close?"

"We are, I guess. He really helped me out when school first started. But I can't talk to him about…" Peeta waves his hand in the air expressively. "Besides, it's like he's impervious. He doesn't hook up at all."

I tell myself the clenching I feel in my gut is just cramps and not something about Brue. _Liar._ "You want to talk to someone about Katniss? Why don't you give me a try?"

Peeta is skeptical. "You're her roommate."

 _Duh. Oh, brainless…that makes me the best person to ask._ "So?"

He lets out a gigantic sigh, like he's considering it. Finally, he says, "Well, um…I don't know what I'm doing."

I close my eyes. "Holy Mother of God. You're a virgin too?"

Peeta blushes. "No. God. No." He's emphatic.

"Good, because I can't possibly coach both of you through your first time." I blow out a breath slowly.

"You mean Katniss is…" He looks shell-shocked enough that I make him sit down and drink some water.

"Duh. Yeah. What did you think?" I tap my finger impatiently on the table.

"Well, uh…Gale…"

I start to laugh…I can't help it. "Seriously? No. You must not know her that well. Katniss needs someone patient who will woo her, not someone who will back her up against a tree or something." I take his water cup and refill it, placing it on the table in front of him.

"That does not make me feel better."

"…Because you want to back her up against a tree?" I say wryly.

"Well, yeah. I'm a guy."

I've got to give him props for honesty. "But you freeze up every time she touches you. I don't think that you're at risk for throwing her over your shoulder."

He shrugs, looking down at the cup in his hands. "I've liked her forever. _Forever_." He draws out the word like it should mean something…more. Like there's at least a deep seated yearning involved here. "…but I can count on two hands how many times she spoke to me growing up. It's like she didn't even know I existed."

"Well, she's noticing now. Stop being a total pussy and freezing up whenever she's around. Compliment her. Touch her. Pretty soon she'll have _you_ backed up against a tree or lying across your motorcycle or whatever." Wow. Ok, that mental image is awesome. _I wonder if Peeta would let me borrow his bike?_

"You think so?" He's skeptical.

"Dude, she leaned into you today. At basketball, she had her freakin' hands _inside_ your shorts. Every Tuesday night it's like food foreplay between you two. And in case you haven't noticed, she's panting for it every single time we show up. She eats it up – literally. When are you going to man up and move things along? Or are you going to choke under the pressure?" I stare at him until he drops his eyes. He stands to get more water from the sink when he drops his cup.

I'm enjoying the view as he bends over to retrieve it (hey, I'm still horny, shoot me!) when his shirt rides up and exposes the scar I noticed at the basketball game. "What's that?" I point toward it.

He stands quickly, pauses for second and then refills his water glass.

Now, I'm a patient person. Right? But I don't let anyone ignore me. I cross over to him and grab his shirt, scrunching it up his back until I can see it better. It's a scar, maybe 3 inches in diameter – almost a perfect circle. That alone is odd, like the contact was steady and straight-on; direct contact and not a glancing blow or a drip of some sort. But the weird thing, the thing that has me looking closer at it, is that I think I recognize the shape. It's a flower, I think, a rosette. Although it's hard to tell because the edges are so puffy-shiny from scarring that they are indistinct in some places.

I let his shirt go and make my way back to the table until he has had his fill of water and turns to face me. When he does, I say quietly, "I know what that is. My Stepmom makes rosette cookies every Christmas. They're beautiful and yummy and a lot of work. So how does someone get a burn from a rosette iron on their back?" I keep my voice soft because I genuinely want to know if the horrible feeling I have in the pit of my stomach is even close to accurate.

Peeta shrugs and meets my eyes, his own clear and blue. "The bakery I told you I grew up in? My brothers and I were fooling around one day. One of them was chasing me with the iron and it slipped."

I think hard about what I know of grease burns and livestock branding , physics, human biology. It's plausible and he looks so convincing. Guileless. But I know that look: I see it in myself sometimes. Where his eyes are sincere, my own mask is full of determination. Either way, it's a mask.

"Bullshit. The shape, the even pressure, the depth of the burn…it's like someone held the hot, greasy iron flat on your back for a few seconds. It's almost perfectly round, so you didn't flinch much. The pain had to be excruciating."

His eyes give him away. "I told you…"

"Not buying it. Katniss said that she's never seen you without your shirt off in recent memory. Rocking body like yours with a pussy-magnet scar like that would have any other guy wearing it like a red badge of courage. What really happened? You can tell me." I coax him.

Peeta lets out a shaky laugh. "What are you, Jo? Practicing to be a cop? Because you would be great at it."

"Come on Peet. Trust me. How horrible can it be?" I falter for a minute, wondering if I'm on the right track. His secret may just blow my own away. And it dawns on me that the one way to get him to share may be to open up to him too, so I blurt out my own pain. "I'll go first. My little sister…she drowned. It was my fault." The blossom of pain unfurls where my heart should be but I push through it like I've been doing since the day she died. I cross my arms over my chest. "I showed you mine…"

"So I should show you mine?" He smirks and closes his eyes. "Let's just say that my Mom didn't always think I did the best job I could at the bakery."

"Your fucking Mother did this?" I'm feeling sick. _What. The. Fuck._

He shrugs, like it's old news to him. "Yeah. My Mother thought some of the cookies were overdone. So she wanted to show me how long they should take so that I would never forget. I guess it worked."

It's already out there. And, even though he's uncomfortable, I feel like I have to keep going. "Is she a big woman?" Peeta's not little by any means.

The quiet and nonchalant way he responds has me so angry that I want to snap the wooden mixing spoon I'm fiddling with. "I was littler then."

I picture a Mother telling a much smaller Peeta to hold still so she could teach him a lesson. Maybe she holds him down across a chair or something. Either way, the mental image makes me see red. "How can you not want to kill her?" I blurt out.

He laughs and it's not a pleasant sound. "I'm seeing someone who is helping me work through it. How about you? How are you dealing with yours?"

It's my turn to laugh. "I'm not. I don't even talk about it."

"It helps. You can't run away from it forever, you know. I like my shrink - he's a pretty practical guy. Quiet. You should talk to him."

"I'll think about it." We smile at each other after an awkward pause, like waking up after a one night stand when you can't remember the person's name.

His smile shifts and suddenly his killer dimples flash. "Did she really say something about wanting to see me shirtless?"

I laugh genuinely with relief. "She sure did, brainless."

-o—

Katniss, Madge, and I become minor celebrities in our dorm for the "Cramper Damper" incident. We handed out baggies of 4 cookies to every single door. Our hormonal dorm-mates ate them up, and Peeta and Finn became honorary dorm residents. I don't even want to think about the mileage Finn is going to get out pulling a stunt like that – talk about social networking! I'm sure he now thinks Facebook should have a "fuck request" for people who don't really want to read all the stupid bullshit but who just want to hit it when they're bored or there's nothing good on television or Netflix.

As a result of the Cramper Dampers, and the fact that we are all around cool chicks, we have a ton of invites to Halloween festivities. One problem: I don't want to go. Halloween reminds me of trick or treating and that reminds me of things I'd rather not think if. So, when Madge announces that she wants to go to the Lamba Chi Halloween party while we're eating breakfast one morning, I look at her like she has two heads.

"You want to go? But you're never the one who wants to go to parties."

She smiles and it's slow and wicked. "I know. But I have a plan to make Gale regret that he ever called me a princess. Come see my costume."

We head up to her room and Kat and I stare at her excuse for a costume as she talks. "I'm going as Scheherazade."

"You mean from 1001 Nights?" Katniss asks when she can finally shut her mouth.

"Yep." Madge sounds please. "I want to torment him." That's going to be an understatement: the belly dancing outfit on her bed is diaphanous. In shades of lavender and blue, it will hang off of her hips and tinkle with tiny bells when she walks and the scarves will float around her feet. The push up bra is silk or something and lacy with a little more chiffon to cover some cleavage. With Madge's body, though, it's going to be like dick dynamite walking into that frat house. I'm sure Shakira herself could not get more of a reaction.

Katniss swallows hard. I can't tell if she's uncomfortable about the idea of semi-nudity at a frat house, or the thought of Madge and Gale. Together.

"I can't let you go alone to a frat house in that." I've done a lot of stupid things in my short life. Letting her walk in there, dressed like that, is just beyond stupid.

Madge laughs. "Jo, you're my Mother now? I'll be fine."

"Not alone you won't. I don't even think me acting as your wingman would keep them off of you. They'll be like cock zombies." Suddenly, I have an idea. "What about Finn? He's the perfect bubble of safety." No guy is going to approach her while she is basking in the beauty of Finn Odair.

"You think he'd do it?" Madge asks and I nod.

"With you? Wearing that? That will cement his rep as the Lady's Lone Ranger. I think he can work with it. What else do you have planned for Gale?"

Madge shrugs. "I haven't thought much beyond the costume. Although if he gets really drunk, I might tie him up just to mess with him. Maybe read him erotic love poetry in Latin all night? I want to really hit him where it hurts."

I gape. "You think Latin is going to be hitting him where it hurts?" I don't know Gale well enough, but I turn to face Katniss because she does.

Katniss sees the question I'm about to ask and licks her lips nervously. "You should…you should mess with his hair. He loves his hair."

"What kind of shampoo does he use? Do you know?" I ask Katniss. When she answers, I nod. "I think I've got an idea. Let me text Finn."

-o—

I can't stop laughing when Finn shows up at our door. "You are going to a frat party in _that_?" Finn is wearing some sort of sarong made out of gold netting over some light greenish fabric. It's short and strategically knotted in front and I am not convinced that he's wearing anything under it. He's smooth and golden from the tip of his hair to his sandal clad feet. I can tell he's having quite an effect because the Woohoo girls had given out a loud _woohoo!_ as he walked by their room.

"Glad to see you got dressed up, Mason." He motions to my shorts and a t-shirt.

I give him the finger and ask if he's going commando. He winks at me and says, "That's for some lucky co-ed to find out." He follows it with a whisper to me, "I brought what you asked for," and fumbles with his trident to detangle it from the bag he's carrying.

Yes, you heard right. He's carrying a fucking trident.

I take the package. "Thanks, Finn. You're the best."

He grins. "I know. Madge is going to owe me."

I snort. "Put your cum canon away for the night, big guy. Like you even have a chance with her."

Finn looks like he's going to say something else when Madge comes into the room and his jaw drops: she's gorgeous. Her hair is soft around her face, her body pale and glowing against the scarves. A veil covers the bottom half of her face making her eyes appear huge with their heavy, dark make-up. She looks smoky and mysterious.

_Gale is in so much trouble._

"M'lady…" Finn bows over Madge's hand and kisses the knuckle. "You are…?"

"…Scheherazade. Queen Scheherazade."

"Ah. 1001 nights would never be enough for us. I am King Triton. I'll lure you in deep and make you wet."

I snort at Finn and roll my eyes, finally handing Madge the contents of the bag. "Undersee, here's you secret weapon." It's a bottle of Gale's shampoo, but it's filled with a secret elixir. (Ok, it's not that secret. It's just the secret to Finn's smooth chest.)

"Shampoo?" She looks confused from me to Finn.

I laugh. "It's a special blend. Finn? Care to explain?"

"I understand that he is especially fond of his hair. Do you see my manly chest? How it glistens with oil?"

"Finn…" I can't stop laughing.

"Jo, do not interrupt the lovely maiden's perusal. Are you done perusing?" He turns this way and that so Madge can really get the full effect. "Not a hair in sight, right?" He winks.

"Oh my God." Madge exclaims, then pops the top of the bottle and sniffs. "Is this….'

I chortle. "It's a Nair-shampoo blend. We used this prank at cheerleading camp whenever someone was a stuck up bitch."

Her outfit tinkles gently as she laughs.


	6. Tested

Midterms suck. It's not that I haven't prepped for tests before – I'm actually a great test taker, thank-you-very-much - I just hate long studying sessions. Mechanical engineering is a challenge and I have to keep up with all the other engineering nerds.

What _?_ You thought I would be a philosophy major?

I love math: algorithms get me hot in a way that most other subjects don't. I'm not ashamed to say that a good calculus problem or a ten page proof are sexy as hell. Although I may love math, it does not always love me back: today is one of those times when I just can't get it to stick in my head. I need to get it down, though, because tomorrow is my final midterm. The only thing standing between me and a mid-term free weekend is calculus so I'm studying my book and notes like they're the Kama Sutra and I'm locked in a room with the Magic Mike cast and a handful of Viagra.

We're at the frat house, studying. At least, I've got my earbuds in and am rocking out to my favorite go-to playlist while everyone else is doing who-knows what. Brue's got his iPad out with a keyboard app on it and his headphones plugged in. Katniss has her trusty pad and pencil and seems to be reviewing notes. Peeta is nowhere to be found yet. Finn is learning the muscles of the body. He keeps trying to get Madge's attention, like maybe she can help quiz him, but she's ignoring him to study her roman civilization text. Gale is fixated on Madge's lips while she sucks on the tip of a highlighter.

And yes, he still has all of his hair. I wonder if he realizes how close he came to being bald? Madge said that she had gotten to the party and somehow misplaced the bottle. She had, however, managed to tie him up and read to him for a little while and she left him with a veil or two as a souvenir. I'm sure that's why he can't seem to take his eyes off of her: score one for Madge!

The rest of the gang takes a break outside to blow off some steam and it's just Brue and I at the table. I see him pull off his headphones out of the corner of my eye and reach for my phone. He grabs it and messes with my playlist.

"Hey, I'm listening to that!"

"Justin Timberlake? That's predictable." He scoffs.

I try to grab the phone away, but he's not giving it up. "J.T. is very talented and a good beat helps me study."

He frowns as he flips through the list. "You've got some really different stuff, but Tupac, B.O.B., Otis Redding, The Who, Lenny Kravitz, and Led Zeppelin should not be on the same playlist as Carly Rae Jepsen, One Direction, and Kelly Clarkson."

"There's nothing wrong with Kelly Clarkson." I grab for it again and he holds it just out of reach.

"You've got Taylor Swift on here. And Aretha. There should be a law against them being on the same playlist. And… is that Nickelback?"

I grab the phone. "Yeah. So? Some of their stuff is good. It's not like I've got Bieber loaded up."

Brue looks at me like I'm an idiot. "It's music written by and for simpletons."

"Mutt Lange produced some of their stuff and they have tremendous sales."

"It's not all about sales and mass marketing," He comments.

I stare at him for a minute, reaching for something Finn told me. "Aren't you majoring in music production? If you are, you should probably care a lot about sales."

He looks at me for a minute then leans back and laughs, sliding my phone back toward me. "Touché, Jo. Are you passionate about everything? Cheerleading, math, music...are you ever tepid about anything?"

"What's the point in doing something if you're not going to do it all the way? It's about committing." I honestly don't get it. Is he telling me that he thinks I should be more wishy-washy? _Blech._

"It's got to be exhausting. That's all. Maybe you should learn to pace yourself." His chair is resting on two legs as he leans back and it reminds me of Libra, the scales weighing me and finding me lacking.

I narrow my eyes at him. "At least I'm not mediocre."

He just stares at me for a minute, his blue eyes unreadable. "No. No you're not."

-o-

I'm still stewing over Brue throughout my midterm and into the afternoon when Madge and Katniss decide I have a little fun. We head to The Row and look for some entertainment somewhere besides Lambda Chi. The whole street is packed like it's Mardi Gras because every single co-ed has had the same idea: girls and guys are everywhere, flipping hair and mashing their gyrating, sweaty bodies together. We head into some other frat house to grab a beer and I start to loosen up as I watch Madge flirt with a few guys who seem to remember her from Halloween.

Obviously, she made quite an impression.

I'm feeling out of place and maudlin, which isn't like me. Unlike Gale, I'm a do-er, not a brooder. I want…something, I'm just not sure what. I'm not drunk enough to flirt yet, and I don't even want to bone someone: something must really be wrong. _What would Finn do?_ I bet he would tell me to fake it 'til I make it. _I'm going to have a good time, damn it!_ I take deep breaths and close my eyes for a minute trying to summon my Libido Lone Ranger to the rescue.

"Parties are more fun with your eyes open."

I sigh. _Fucking Hawthorne._ "Please don't stand too close: all of your dark and brooding is just going to rub off. Why are you even here? Don't you have your own house to haunt?"

Gale shrugs. "…Bunch of the guys wanted to branch out a little." He's silent for almost a minute while we both sip our beer. "Halloween was your idea, wasn't it?"

"What?" I'm only half listening, like my brain is half at the party or my ears are filled with cotton.

"Madge's costume…the tie-up…that was you."

I choke on my mouthful of beer. When I recover, I smirk at him. "Nope. Not at all. Although I'm flattered that you think I'm that creative." And I'm not even lying: those things were her idea, not mine.

"Come on, Jo. She never, ever would have done something like that at home."

"You must not know her that well then, Gale. Because here's a newsflash that maybe you've missed but she hasn't." I lean closer to him to make sure he can hear me and then I viciously over-enunciate. "You're not at home anymore. Open your eyes and wake the fuck up." I can't believe he can't see her for who she is now.

I push past him, so pissed that I just want to get the hell out of there. I go to dump my cup of beer when I spy a passel of guys playing cards. Again.

I know. I know. I'm sure it's a test, but I can't resist.

I slide into a chair with my _I'm a girl_ mask fully in place, complete with high-pitched giggling. The first hand I win and it's like everyone thinks my shy smile is adorable. I'm congratulating myself on another great night where I take advantage of the dumber sex when one of the guys stands up and announces that he's going to get more beer and leaves his seat empty. _No problem._ Right? Wrong. Guess who sits down at the empty seat? I glare at Brue across the table and he just shoots me a jaunty salute.

"Mason." He says. By his tone I can tell that the jig is up and he's going to blow my cover. _Fuck._ I deflate faster than a dick at a nun convention. Not only did Brue wreck last night with his snide comments, but he's going to go in for the kill on my evening tonight as well.

I win the second hand as well and give a convincing "beginner's luck" titter. My heart's not in it, though and I just know that my best plan of action is to get up and leave. I want to scream in frustration and stamp my feet all the way to the front door. Who the hell is this guy to be my ultimate buzz-kill?

As if he is reading my mind, Brue leans forward and says, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "How about we make this more interesting?"

I'm not about to back down from a direct challenge, especially from the guy who is essentially Batman to my Catwoman. "What did you have in mind?" Because I'm going to say yes pretty much no matter what.

His head turns to the side as he assesses me. "Strip poker."

Every male face at the table goes slack and they swing their eyes to me. I almost snort in delight: like I care about a little naked flesh? It was Brue in my dorm room who made me get dressed. _Yeah, but he also didn't seem to care when you dropped your towel. He seemed pretty unimpressed._

I shush the voice in my head, toss my hair and say, "Sounds good." I swear I can hear the silent roaring and cat-calling of the other guys, but I never take my eyes off Brue. He gives me a slow half-smile.

A hand on my shoulder shakes me out of my staring contest. "Count me in too,'' Madge says and sits down next to me. I do a double take in her direction but she just smiles at me sweetly. Brue looks surprised. The reaction of the rest of the table is like Bruckheimer filming a money shot: every guy at the table goes silent and licks their lips in anticipation of not one, but two sets of boobs.

Frankly, Madge is so hot that I'm even salivating a little.

So we get started. I wonder if Brue has made a tactical error, since he knows that I kick ass at poker. He's good, but he's not me and I can probably remain comfortably dressed while all the other guys nude up. The problem with my strategy becomes apparent after the first couple of hands. Although I'm great, Madge isn't. She's only okay. Do I let my friend end up naked while I stay clothed? The other problem is that we're not really dressed for strip poker: we're both wearing simple outfits and sandals and don't even have socks to help us along, unlike the guys at the table. She's already got her flip flops and her bangle bracelet off when I realize that I can't help Madge win, but I can keep her from nuding-up all by herself. You know, like a good friend.

Which means that I'll have to let Brue…well… I'll have to let him win. The thought sticks in my craw like a chicken bone.

So I lose a couple of hands on purpose. To my delight, Brue ends up with his shoes and socks off too. You can see the tension build as the guys look at each other, knowing that the next hand chances are good that Madge and I might end up with our pants or shirts off. I'm not worried about me because I'm pretty used to be being largely unclothed around people – prancing around in a really short skirt and tiny sweater will do that - and it doesn't concern me. Madge, though… I'm not sure what's going to happen when she has to peel her clam diggers off.

The hand ends and Madge, Brue and I all have to get rid of something. I wait until he removes his shirt so that I don't miss a second of his lean arms and broad shoulders. Sure enough, he's hairless. I silently take in his hardwood floors and wonder if he lets his hair grow back during the off season. I'm discovering that I like a little chest hair when I'm with a guy. I shake myself: I am not _with him._ Get it together, Mason.

It's my turn and I do what I consider to be the safe thing – my shorts come off with a shimmy of my hips that reveals my electric blue boy shorts with _HOT!_ emblazoned in pink across my ass. I sit down on my chair, realizing that none of the guys except Brue are watching me anyway: they are all panting for the lovely Madge to put them out of their misery.

She gives a shy smile and starts to unbutton her white linen blouse. I swear, I can hear the blood rushing to groins around the table as button by button she reveals more pale skin. She's completely undone and shrugging her shoulders out of her top to expose a very lacy white bra that nicely displays her assets. All of the eyes at the table are fixated on her as if she's Dita Von Teese while she completely removes her blouse and places it on the back of her chair.

I lean over, "You ok?"

She nods and giggles. "Yeah. It's…it's sort of freeing, isn't it?"

"The attention?" I frown a little as they deal the next hand.

Madge shakes her head. "No. Being ok with being naked."

I want to tell her that we're not naked yet. Instead, I nod. "It's no big deal." She flips her hair and runs her fingers down her neck and I swear it's like throwing chum in shark infested waters. All I can think is that we're going to need a bigger boat.

Right around the middle of another hand, I realize we're drawing a crowd. Rather, Madge's rack is drawing 'em in. _Chum, indeed._ We've got a circle of guys around the table and it actually begins to worry me that we're in an advanced state of undress and surrounded. Brue catches my eye and I can see his frown: he seems to have picked up on my fear but obviously doesn't understand it. My mind is no longer on the game, it's on making a safe exit from the party for both Madge and I.

We lose. Madge immediately stands and starts inching the zipper of her pants down and I tug my shirt over my head, exposing my pink bra. Brue shucks out of his jeans, exposing briefs and muscular legs. I pull myself away from staring when he leans over and asks loudly, "Pink, Mason? What's your thing for pink?"

I flip my hair and blurt out, "Pink is the new red," when I realize it's the bra that I wore when he returned my keychain. I hope he remembers that day and how I look out of it.

I hear someone say, "Is that my Queen?" from behind us and Finn pushes through the crowd. Immediately, we are enveloped in his trusty bubble of hotness whereby no other man will mess with us, despite all of the attention we're getting. I can't recall a time in recent memory when I've been happier to see him.

Madge squeals – actually fucking squeals – when she sees him. She jumps up and hangs off of his neck, giving him a huge hug and a peck on the mouth and I randomly wonder exactly how drunk she is.

I lean over close to his ear and whisper, "You are the best wingman. Ever."

He pulls back a little and puts an arm around each of us. "I know." He says, modestly. He's holding two scantily clad women in the middle of a midterm frat party. Every guy in the place suddenly thinks we're going to leave and have a three way and I'm okay with that simply because it means we get _to leave_. I kiss his cheek in gratitude and he even blushes a little bit, then swats me on the ass. "Come on, ladies. Let's make like a tree and leave."

I hustle back into my clothes while making the appropriate apologies to the guys at the table. Only Brue looks at me with that smirk he wears so well and I hear one of the guys ask him if he's going to get my phone number.

An unexpected hurt cuts right through me when he stares at me and says, "Oh, I've got her number already. I've got her pegged."

_Fuck you, Brue. You don't know me at all._

I turn to watch Finn helping Madge back into her shirt. She's staring up at Finn with a weird squinty look - like he's a god and she's never seen him before - when I see Gale walking toward us with his eyes fixated on Finn's tan hands against Madge's pale body.

_Uh oh._

-o—

"Who does he think he is?" Madge has her hands on her hips. Her perfect lips are drawn into a deep frown. "He doesn't own me." She's talking about Gale, of course. Gale, who punched Finn last night after seeing him buttoning Madge's blouse. Poor Katniss had to pull Gale off so that we could all high-tail it out of there.

"Madge, calm down." Katniss talks to her carefully, quietly.

"No. I. Will. Not. Finn was just trying to be helpful."

I find myself in the strange position of sticking up for Gale instead of Finn. "Look. I think he was just protecting you. He must have thought you and Finn were _together_ because of Halloween. He doesn't deal well with change and you were mostly naked at a party with a guy's hands on you….what would you have done if it were Gale?"

"You mean if Gale were at a sorority party and some girl were all over him?" Madge pleats her soft pink pajama top nervously. "I don't know. It didn't really bother me much when he and Katniss were together."

Katniss interjects, "We were never _together._ "

Madge waves her hand, "You know what I mean. I just assumed you guys were going to end up together after a particularly drunken night someday. But I guess I see your point, Jo…I wouldn't want it flaunted in front of me." She sighs.

It's quiet for a moment when Katniss says, "Did you see his face? He couldn't take his eyes off of you." Katniss has a tone to her voice that's hard to read. It could be envious, or even jealous.

Madge colors prettily. "That was only because of Finn. I'm not even sure Gale's ever seen me as a _girl_ before, except maybe on Halloween." She turns to me, "And what was going on with you and Brue? I don't think it was the beer that made me think things were tense between you guys."

So I tell them all of it. How I feel like he picks on me: his comments about my music, how it feels like he goads me all the time, how he thinks that he's better than me. I can't bring myself to mention that I'm hurt at his total lack of reaction to my naked body and how he seems offended by my pink underwear. _Who gets offended by pink underwear?_ I uncharitably think that he must like beige or white, like granny panties.

They don't laugh. If anything, Madge seems more incensed at every word I utter, like she's unequivocally on my side. Katniss tries to get us to analyze it from his point of view, but I don't want to. Just talking about it makes me feel raw and sensitive and I'm sure that she's at least partially right: I bet am I overreacting. But I _want_ to overreact.I don't know why he's under my skin and I just want him gone from there.

Don't I?


	7. The Disappearance (A Katniss and Peeta Outtake)

"Hey. How were your midterms?" Katniss asks Peeta, her expression reflecting her happiness at seeing someone she knows. Super-ragers are more Johanna's thing, not hers.

Peeta runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. Some of the engineering pre-reqs are really kicking my butt."

"You're an engineering major too?" Katniss's face reflects surprise. She watchs his fingers as he drags them through his curls and thinks about Jo's statement that he resembles a golden retriever. She doesn't see it, not at all.

He nods. "Yeah. Chemical engineering. I like to see stuff come together, reactions, that sort of thing. But even the pre-reqs are hard compared to what we had in high school."

"Why not ask Jo if you can study together?" Katniss stumbles into him as she's jostled by a drunken co-ed.

Peeta laughs, showing off his nicely even teeth. "Jo? Because she's terrifying. I like my studying with a little less threat of possible bodily injury. Really. I don't see how you can spend time alone with her."

Katniss immediately comes to her defense, "She's not so bad. She's just a little…colorful."

"Yeah. You can say that again." Peeta frowns as Katniss is bumped again and he watches her shoot a dirty look at the culprit. "You want to take a walk? Get out of here for a bit?"

Katniss looks at her half-full red solo cup. She's not in the mood to drink warm, crappy beer. As good as it sounds to get drunk and lose herself for a while, what she really wants is to be out in the woods. She breathes a sigh because she knows how completely impossible an idea that is.

Peeta misinterprets the sound. "Hey, never mind. It's a dumb idea."

Katniss stares blankly at him before she catches on to why he's suddenly changing his mind. "No. It's a great idea. I was just…just thinking that I wish I could head into the woods. You know, to relax."

Peeta's frown clears and a light enters his eyes. "I might be able to arrange that. Come on." He holds out his hand and together they walk out of the house.

-o-

"You're going to just hang on and lean with me, ok? And remember, we can talk to each other if we need to." Peeta hands Katniss a black helmet and a leather jacket that she just knows is going to be too big. She is more concerned, though, with getting on the motorcycle. She eyes the space behind him on the seat warily.

"Come on. Trust me, you'll love it," He says as he holds out a hand to help her put her leg over the seat. She is glad that the helmet covers her face, which she is sure is aflame when he says, "OK. Put your arms around me and hang on tight until you get the feel of the bike. It's like riding a horse."

Katniss doesn't tell him that she's never done that, either. She just slides her arms around him, scooting her butt as close to his on the seat as she can. The helmet makes her head feel heavy and funny and she can't feel much because of the leather jacket. She almost feels like she is in a bubble and Peeta is the only other thing in it.

"Ready? I'm going to go on three. Remember, just lean with me. One…Two…"

And then she feels nothing but the wind rushing past her and Peeta's big body shielding her, thighs shifting with the motion of the bike underneath them.

-o—

"Oh my God, that was incredible!" Katniss laughs as she pulls off her helmet. Peeta thinks that he has never seen a prettier sight. "I can't wait to tell Jo about it."

Peeta laughs. "Yeah. I'm sure she'll love to hear all about the great ride I gave you." At Katniss's flush, his dimples flash coyly. "You know she'll go there."

Katniss sighs and looks around. "Yeah. I do. So…where are we?"

"…Griffith Park. I think it's the closest thing to our woods back home that I've seen since coming to L.A. Want to take a hike? We've got a little time yet before the park closes." Peeta motions to a hiking trail that disappears between the trees. Katniss starts walking and Peeta follows her, a companionable quiet between them and the sounds of the evening woods surrounding them. A mile later, Katniss throws back her head and breaths deeply. She can still taste the L.A. smog, but it is mixed with the smell of leaves and green things and animals and she feels re-charged.

"Thank you. This is…this is lovely." She smiles at him. "You know, you brought me to the woods near dark… how do I know you're not an axe murderer? They say it's always the quiet ones."

Peeta snorts. "Then it's more likely to be you murdering me because I think that's the first time anyone's ever accused me of being quiet."

Katniss laughs. "Yeah, well, your footprints would be a giveaway. You have a heavy tread. Do you mind if I…" Katniss points to the tree behind her, indicating that she wants to climb.

"Go ahead." Peeta shrugs. "I'll keep watch."

"You're not much of a climber?" Katniss finds footholds carefully as she hoists herself up.

"Nah. I like to stay firmly on the ground most of the time. I'm not really built for climbing."

"You should let me teach you – you've got the shoulders for it." Her swift climb means she misses his shocked look at her compliment. "The view is different from up here." She looks down at his blonde head once she's reached what she considers a good distance.

"Oh? What do you see?" Peeta gazes up at her and their eyes catch and hold for a long moment.

Katniss can't answer his question. In the waning light, his blonde hair and pale skin shine brightly, like a beacon. He looks strong, solid. Trustworthy. What was it Jo had said that first day in the frat house? How long have you been in love with my roommate? Is that even possible? With her? When she doesn't answer, Peeta looks away as if embarrassed to have asked the question in the first place.

Katniss clears her throat. "Hey. Want to…want to go get something to eat? My treat?" She hopes it isn't obvious that it is the first time she's ever asked a boy out.

Peeta's smile returns, dimples flashing. "Sure. I know just the place."

-o—

"Oh my God." Katniss moans as she spoons another bit of blackberry cobbler into her mouth. Peeta had navigated them to a dessert eatery in the Los Feliz area that he said was known for their cobbler. Katniss had remained skeptical until her first bite.

"Good, huh?" Peeta takes a much smaller mouthful, savoring the contrast of warm cobbler and cold ice cream.

"So good." Katniss agrees. "Gale and I used to pick blackberries in the woods and eat them by the handfuls. They were so sweet and ripe that my hands would be stained purple when we got home. This is pretty close, which is really saying something." She licks her spoon eloquently, completely unaware of the sensuality of the gesture.

"You and Gale always were close." Peeta takes another bite, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"We're friends. We help each other. Like you and Delly." Katniss shrugs nonchalantly.

Peeta swirls cobbler in ice cream thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Delly and I were close, but you and Gale had a special relationship."

Katniss pauses with her spoon in mid-air. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Peeta meets her eyes. "Aren't you more than that to each other?"

She shakes her head in negation before he even stops speaking. "No. We've never been more than friends to each other. Why does everyone say that?"

"We've all seen the way he looks at you." Peeta's response is matter-of-fact.

"No. That's not true. Gale and I are just friends." She emphasizes the last two words before taking another bite of cobbler. A frown mars her forehead.

Peeta wisely keeps quiet as they finished the dessert.

Katniss leans back and curls her hands around her teacup. She notices Peeta does the same, mimicking her gesture. She lets the quiet unravel between them as she plucks up her courage and finally says the words she has kept inside for six years. "I never got to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Peeta sounds confused.

"For…for you helping me. You know. That time." Katniss stares at her tea, her voice stilted and defensive.

Peeta looks at her in confusion. "When did I… you mean from when we were kids?"

She nods and plucks at the gingham tablecloth. "Yeah. I just…you were always so unapproachable."

His laughter is sharp, "Ha! First you call me quiet. Now it's unapproachable? You're opinion isn't very high of me, is it?"

Katniss scowls and looks away. "Ok. Maybe that was a bad choice of words. I'm just…not good at this."

"At what?" Peeta sounds perplexed.

"This." Katniss motions between the two of them.

He rubs the bridge of his nose like he is having trouble following the conversation. "Try me again. Why couldn't you tell me thank you?"

"What you did for me…it was huge. Life changing. Thank you was too little." Katniss looks down at her hand as it traces wet rings on the tablecloth.

Peeta's voice is soft when he says, "You're welcome. I wanted to do more."

Katniss shakes her head. "It wasn't necessary. I got on my feet and then Gale and I paired up." Peeta makes a noise and Katniss winces: they're right back to talking about Gale. "What about… why didn't you ever talk to me in high school?"

It's Peeta's turn to watch his hands. "You know why." He frowns as Katniss shakes her head. "Johanna said it that first day."

Katniss shakes her head again. "I doubt that."

"Don't do that." Peeta says sharply. "Don't. Don't reject what I feel because you don't understand it. What Johanna said is the truth. I've just…I've never been able to admit it to you."

"But that can't be true. Because Johanna said…" Katniss reaches back in her memory to that first morning at the frat house. How had Johanna put it exactly? It was important not to get it wrong.

"…She said that I was in love with you." Peeta is angry, two spots of color appearing high on his cheekbones. "You don't have to say anything. It feels good to say it out loud. My therapist will be so proud." His grin twists in self-derision.

He won't meet her eyes as she pays the bill and leaves a tip. When it's time to get back on the bike, he stops her with a deep sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything in there. It sort of wrecked the night and I didn't mean to make it so awkward. I don't know what I was thinking; it's not like you were going to confess your undying love for me in return. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for putting you on the spot."

"Peeta, you don't have to apologize. I won't admit that I know how to respond to what you said. I just…can you give me some time? Can we just pretend that it didn't happen or something? It's a lot to take in all at once." She doesn't add that she has no idea what to do with his declaration, even though it makes her curious.

He haltingly nods and mounts the bike, then reaches around to help her.

She swings her leg over the seat and scoots closer to him. Her hand loops around his waist and tangles in the belt loops of his jeans, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to soamazinghere, honeylime08, and scoutchick104 for pre-reading a million years ago when I wrote this.


	8. Girl Power

Later that day, Madge barges into our room and tells us that she's springing for pizza and a movie on her Netflix. We end up watching _The Avengers_ , because who doesn't love that cast? And the Black Widow is freaking awesome. We're all a little bit hyper from too many sodas when the movie's over and somehow end up with a girl power playlist blasting through speakers loud enough that I'm surprised Effie hasn't come by to say something. Then again, it is the Saturday night after midterms, so maybe she's cutting us some slack.

The woohoo girls pop in and bring some hard lemonade and wine coolers, which is fine by me: I need a little numbness to wash away the last couple of days. Madge has cued up some videos that she considers empowering or maybe just hot. We're listening to Maroon 5 and watching Adam Levine sweat to _Harder to Breathe_ and suddenly I'm jumping up and down on the bed singing the words at the top of my lungs with one of the woohoos whose name I don't even know. We're giggling and laughing and I'm feeling the bitterness just wash away. Madge hands me another lemonade and I drink it greedily, noticing that she's gotten paint pens from somewhere and is starting to write lyrics in her girly script on the walls of my half of the room. Katniss either doesn't notice or doesn't care. I figure it's the latter when she picks up a pen and adds to the fun. Before too long, I've joined in and it looks like a pep rally exploded on our walls. I'm sure I'll be worried about getting it off – I'm not even sure these pens are water soluble – tomorrow.

When Kristina DeBarge comes on singing _Goodbye_ it's like Jock Jams took over our dorm room. We've got more girls coming in and singing with us. Katniss is drumming on the desk and Madge is pretending to sing into a hairbrush. The woohoos and I are doing a crazy amount of yelling during the backup parts and we're all laughing and jumping around. The track changes and Katniss stands on a dresser as she belts out _Respect_ while we dance around her. When we hit the part where we spell RESPECT, it feels like the entire floor is yelling it out and we're laughing so hard we're crying.

I'm sweating like my room is a mosh pit. I've got strange floor-mates standing on my bed. I have people writing who-knows-what on my wall. And I'm happier than I've been in a while.

So when Little Mix comes on, it feels natural for Madge and Katniss and I to stand on the desk, stomp our feet and harmonize. We're just belting out the line, "Talk, talk turns into air/and I don't even care…" like we're freaking En Vogue when I see some decidedly male heads in our doorway. I don't know about the other ladies, but I'm suddenly singing directly to them.

I'm not sure if it's the pace change when Whitney's _I'm Every Woman_ starts or what, but their arrival seems to make the rest of the ladies dissipate. I'm bummed, even though we're still singing. Because I'm sure that we'd have more fun with the ladies than the guys who look aghast at what we're doing.

Have I mentioned that Everdeen can belt out a number like a pro? Peeta's staring at her like he wants to devour her whole, Brue looks stunned to hear that huge voice coming out of her and Finn is totally dancing to the groove like only a man confident of his masculinity can. We finish the song and Katniss sort of does a stage dive right into Peeta's arms. It's not a bad catch, considering he's never been trained professionally. Gale holds Madge around her waist and lifts her gently to the ground like a freaking porcelain doll.

Finn lowers the volume so I can suddenly hear myself think and holds his arms out for a neat catch, which I do. But I don't like the quiet. For once, I wish Finn weren't there to bring me back to earth.

The quiet is deafening. Finally Gale says, "We thought you guys might want to grab dinner with us.'

Madge looks at Finn's black eye critically, then glares at Gale. "You two…made up?"

Gale has the grace to look sheepish. "Yeah. I told him I was out of line after he explained that he was just trying to get you guys out of there. I'm still not sure what you guys were thinking." He gives me a dirty look, so I glance at Brue. _Because I wasn't really thinking at all._ I just wanted to show Brue that I could take whatever he could dish out.

My brown eyes clash with his blue ones and he clears his throat. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He sounds nervous. Madge catches my eye and I nod at her, so she and Katniss tell me that they'll go on ahead to the dining hall. Katniss, of course, has to interject that I should hurry up because it's chimichanga night with all the fixin's. I wave them on and cross my arms over my chest when the door closes. It's quiet for a long minute, so I cock my eyebrow in Brue's direction.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" He sighs. "I'm sorry. Last night…last night was dumb. I was so hell-bent on making sure you didn't take advantage of the guys at the table that I didn't even think…"

I cut him off. "That we could have gotten hurt?"

He nods. "But you didn't have to say yes."

"I was pretty drunk until about halfway through the game. That's when I started to realize that something could go badly. I'm just glad Finn showed up." I look away from him. I don't want to explain that he gets to me in a way that makes me want to accept whatever dare he puts out there.

He confesses, "Finn's the one who set me straight." I don't know what to say to that: it makes sense that Finn would pick up on the fear underneath my bravado. "He's a good guy. And I wouldn't have even had to have the idea if you weren't such a card shark. So…no hard feelings?" He smiles and motions between the two of us.

"No. We're good," I lie. I don't think we're ever going to be good until I can stop thinking about him the way I do.

-o—

We come back to our room after dinner, the boys flopping down on our beds like they own the place. Katniss is griping that she doesn't have anything painted on her side of the room so Peeta haltingly offers to paint something.

_He fucking paints?_ _Is there anything this guy can't do?_ I wonder if he's a lousy lay. _Maybe he has a tiny peen._ I glance at his crotch and try to guestimate the size of his junk, like I'm Bob Vila and he's a piece of wood.

Get it?

He takes off his shoes and stands on her bed while he draws the outline of a tree. Katniss watches him with interest, like she too had no idea that Peeta had an artistic side. I want to make a joke about _unplumbed depths_ but see Brue eyeing me from my beanbag chair and bite my tongue; plenty of time to tease her about Peeta's plumbing after they're all gone for the night.

Finn is fiddling with a pen on the desk as we all chat and try to digest what feels like twenty pounds of deep fried Mexican food. Suddenly, he stands and grabs at something shoved against the wall: it looks like a book.

"Oh, ho….Jo. You're kidding me. You're into this now?" He holds up a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. He doesn't even wait for me to answer before he's flipping pages haphazardly. "Why can't girls just like normal porn? You freak out when guys watch it, but then you lay awake until two in the morning reading erotica. It makes no sense." He shakes his head and the rest of the guys laugh. "Am I making that up, guys? I mean, really…who needs all of this crappy description that you have to work to visualize? Watch something on the internet instead. It's faster and you don't have to worry about doing it one-handed."

I actually consider that point because it's a good one but Finn's on a roll so no one can interrupt. "Let me see. How about this passage?" He clears his throat and begins reading dramatically,

"He leans down and kisses me, his fingers still moving rhythmically inside me, his thumb circling and pressing. His other hand scoops my hair off my head and holds my head in place. His tongue mirrors the actions of his fingers, claiming me. My legs begin to stiffen as I push against his hand. He gentles his hand, so I'm brought back from the brink ... I come instantly again and again, falling apart beneath him … then I'm building again … I climax anew, calling out his name."

It's a little odd to hear a guy reading what is obviously a girl's point of view, but the rest of the room doesn't seem to care. Peeta is painting furiously, the sound of the paint pen scratching the wall the only sound. Madge looks like she wants to take notes. Katniss is staring at the floor and Brue and Gale share that know-it-all smirk they have in common.

Finn snorts. "Or what about this part? It's just ridiculous."

"He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two shiny silver balls linked with a thick black thread … _Inside me!_ I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils … _Oh my_ … It's a curious feeling. Once they're inside me, I can't really feel them—but then again I know they're there … _Oh my_ … I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex."

I watch Madge shift a little on my bed, knowing that Finn's having a very different effect than he is going for: we are rapt, like Patrick Stewart is reading erotica to us instead of a fellow co-ed. There's a small group of girls hovering around the open door to our room and it makes me want to laugh. Finn thinks he's making fun of us? I see him glance up and acknowledge the audience. A strange look crosses his face when he sees one particular co-ed in the group outside our door and I can't tell if it's acknowledgement or wonder or recognition or exactly what. He looks almost startled for a moment before he recovers with a secretive smile.

I stare at my nails and goad him on. "You should look for a passage where there's S&M. I'm sure you guys will have something to say about that."

Finn frowns and turns some pages. "Ah, let's try this part."

"At the touch of leather, I quiver and gasp. He walks around me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind … against my sex … The shock runs through me, and it's the sweetest, strangest, hedonistic feeling … My body convulses at the sweet, stinging bite. My nipples harden and elongate from the assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs."

I have to admit that even I'm sort of turned on by that passage. I wonder idly if Brian might be willing to do something with handcuffs and have to stop myself. With Brue in the room, it feels oddly wrong to consider doing something like that with Brian.

Finn makes a face and drops the book on the desk. "Jo, how can you even read this crap?"

I can't help it - I smile a pretty wide smile. Everdeen raises her eyes from the floor and I can see the panic along with a silent plea, but I counter it with a sidelong glance at Peeta.

I shrug. "It sounded pretty good coming from you, you know. But you've got it wrong: that's Everdeen's porn, not mine."

-o-

"Did you see his face?" I'm still laughing over Peeta's tomato-red face when he realized that little Katniss was reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I hiccup again when I think about how he had turned right back to his painting and finished it without a word. Gale, on the other hand, laughed so hard he fell off of the bed and hit his head.

Katniss says in a tight little voice. "It's not funny."

"It's fucking hysterical." I feel like cackling. When I get my laughter under control, I say, "Look. If you're gonna tame his wild beast, he has every right to know what you've been reading on the side. It's not like you're the only person to read that book."

"Yeah. But now he _knows_."

I scoff. "Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to run out and buy leather cuffs or a riding crop. He drew a tree on your wall for Christ's sake. At least now he knows what you're into."

"I am not _into_ it. I read it because I was curious. Besides, the tree is actually the apple tree behind his parent's bakery. It's nice. It reminds me of home." I hear her roll over and face the wall and know the conversation is over.

"Bullshit. You're into the leather. I bet you just want him to put on his leather pants, tie you up and take you bent over his motorcycle." Hell. Who wouldn't want that? The idea of Katniss having Peeta dominate her is enough to send me into another round of laughter. Katniss is quiet, though and I know I've crossed a line with her, so I catch my breath and consider the painting above her bed. It _is_ a nice tree. Very life-like. Peeta had painted it in bloom so that it has leaves and flowers and I can see how it's peaceful for Katniss to sleep beneath.

Wait a second. He drew a tree. A fucking _tree._ I reach back to our conversation the day of the Cramper Dampers…didn't he admit that he wanted to back her up against a tree? He drew a tree right above her bed, as if to say _X marks the spot._ Like when a baseball player calls his shot, he's getting bolder even if she doesn't know it. Hell, _he_ may not even know it.

I smother another laugh. Watching these two get together is going to be so much fun. That is, if she doesn't smother me in my sleep.

-o—

Parent's weekend comes. That's where families show up to make sure that all the money they are spending on our education is worth it. Katniss, Madge, Peeta and Gale are lucky that their families are too far away to make the trip. OK, maybe that's a fucked up thought. Who doesn't want to see their family after months apart for the first time ever?

Me.

I'm not ready to be shoved back into the box of behavior that their mere presence will force on me. I'm not ready for Katniss and Madge to meet them. I'm certainly not ready for them to meet Brian and I wonder if his family is going to fly in from St. Louis. Suddenly, my palms are sweaty.

I dress carefully: a sundress in blue and white, light makeup. It's the first time I've put on makeup since the day I moved in and it feels weird, like a mask. The girl looking at me from the mirror gets good grades, loves to cheerlead and has a guy for a best friend. She never misses a curfew and she doesn't drink because it would let her parents down. I stick out my tongue at my reflection and turn away to head to the freshman reception where we're meeting the parents who have made the trip.

"Why do I need to be here?" Katniss picks at her shorts. "It's not like my Mom and Prim are coming."

We wander around the reception eating fruit skewers and drinking sparkling cider. "You're here as moral support."

Katniss snorts and flings her braid over her shoulder. "For who? You? You've never needed moral support in your life. Plus, you've got Finn." She looks around the room, spots Gale and waves to him, then turns to me. She must see something vulnerable on my face because her smile slips. "Are you o…."

She never gets to finish the thought as she is rushed from behind and enveloped in a huge hug. "Katniss? Katniss Everdeen? Oh, it's so good to see you!" The guy has immense shoulders and forearms like small tree trunks and his blonde curls bounce as he talks to my roommate. "Your Mother and Prim will be so excited when I tell them I saw you. Would you mind taking a picture of us?"

The blonde guy hands me his cell phone and snuggles her closer to his side. She looks bewildered in the face of his whirlwind of enthusiasm. "Where's my son? Peeta! Peeta!" He waves frantically to a corner of the courtyard. "I'm so happy I decided to surprise him. This is going to be the best weekend!"

_Of course._ Peeta looks a lot like his Dad once they are standing side by side. Well, at least in the same way that a bear cub looks like a giant panda: everything about his Dad is bigger from his exuberant curls, to his dimples, to his laugh. His damn shoulders make Peeta look tiny. Peeta and Katniss both look uncomfortable as his Dad has an arm around each of them and squeezes. I'm not sure if the discomfort is because of the hug or because it looks like an anaconda is squeezing the life out of them. When I see Peeta wince, I realize it's the latter.

"Peeta, I am so glad you came to school with your friends. Now, where is that handsome Hawthorne boy? And Madge?"

Katniss throws me a dirty look when I laugh under my breath at the guy's enthusiasm. I hold out my hand politely, though. Old habits die hard. "You must be Mr. Mellark. I'm Johanna. It's nice to meet you."

The guy grabs my arm and reels me in for a hug. _Ah. Obviously a hugger._ He squeezes hard so that I also have to wince and I can't wait to watch Gale have to go through this treatment. "Johanna! So nice to meet you. You must be friends with my boy, Peet."

"Dad, she's Katniss's roommate." Peeta rubs the back of his neck.

This earns me another squeeze from Mr. Mellark. "Well, that makes you practically family. I'm Bran. It's short for Brandon, but it's better advertising for the bakery if you call me Bran. Get it?" He winks at me and those dimples flash blindingly.

Yep. I totally see where Peeta gets it.

I spy Madge and Finn talking with an attractive gentleman in a suit. I know the man doesn't belong to Finn because his Dad is friend my parents and wonder if he is related to Madge. Finn shakes his hand and I spy Gale watching the scene as well. His eyes meet mine and I raise an eyebrow at him, then motion him over.

It doesn't take long for Mr. Mellark to notice Gale coming our way.

"Hawthorne! He grabs Gale and hugs him as well. Gale winces. "You handsome rascal. Are you keeping the ladies in line?" Peeta's blush is back and Gale looks sheepish.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Mellark."

"Oh, please. Why so formal? You're all adults now. Call me Bran. I can't wait to hear about your fraternity and the parties, and the girls…." Mr. Mellark nudges Gale on the ribs.

I don't so much hear them coming as feel a disturbance in the Force that is usually followed by sticky hands and much yelling. I'm not disappointed. I hear my name a scant second before I am hit from behind by a freight train that almost knocks me to the floor.

"Jo!" I hear three voices call out and the predictable follow up chastising from my Dad. The trio clinging to me pays him no mind as they half hug, half claw at me. I crouch down to their level. The oldest of the three, Charles, is starting to really sprout. Caleb, the youngest, smells of shampoo and peanut butter. I hold him close and breathe him in.

"Hey, you guys…I missed you! You being good?" I can't help but mess up their hair as I stand inside the circle. My Mom and Dad finally hug me as well and it's like one giant puppy pile that makes me want to cry a little.

I blink back emotion and introduce them around. Katniss seems like she's in awe of my Mom, who is very well put together at all times, even with three young boys. Her brown hair flows in a sheet to her shoulders and sways when she moves. Her skin is flawless and her eyes are huge pools of brown that make my Dad sing _Brown Eyed Girl._ In short, she looks like she should be on _Sex in the City._ She's a Marketing Vice President, so I think that has something to do with it: personal brand is important to her. My Dad is put together in his standard fare knit shirt and chinos. He's an 'SC alum and you can tell he is just so proud to be back on campus.

"How's my little girl?" He breathes quietly into my hair after hugging me gently. I blink harder to keep the tears at bay again, especially when I realize the pressure of being his _only_ little girl.

Fuck.

Madge walks over at that moment with Finn and we introduce them around too. My Mom is blinking rapidly at the aura of golden awesomeness that surrounds the two of them and I have to remind myself to explain that Madge and Finn aren't together when Mom asks me about them all later. Madge's Dad explains that her Mom couldn't make it because she's ill. He is a handsome man – not as handsome as Finn's often-absent-but-super-hot Dad – and he looks tired, especially compared to Mr. Mellark's vitality.

The gang is almost all together but I'm looking around the room anyway. I spy Brian in his Navy dress uniform looking handsome with an older couple in tow. He catches my eyes and nods to me cordially and my heart squeezes just a little at the fact that he's just as reticent as I am to introduce our families. It's almost enough to make me question what we do in the dark in his dorm room. Almost. Then I remember how his lips feel against mine and what his breathless pants sound like when he loses control and I shrug mentally: so what if he doesn't want to introduce us? It's not like I need a stamp of approval from them to do what we do together.

I keep scanning the room as the group talks about activities for the next two days. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for when my eyes come to rest on Brue who is standing next to a solid wall of a man. While Peeta's Dad is big in a stocky way, wider than tall with huge shoulders, the older gentleman next to Brue is both tall and wide, with wavy grayish reddish hair that forms a nimbus around his head like a lion's mane and a mustache and beard to complete the image. His plaid tie flaps as he gesticulates at both Brue and the petite brunette next to him. I catch Brue's eye and raise a brow. His crash together like he's annoyed that I am watching whatever it is that is unfolding between them and I smile at that fact.

Yeah, it's dumb. Just because I want to stick out my tongue at him doesn't mean I don't know I'm acting like a child.

Brue is obviously having an argument with the older man. I watch as his face turns a strange mottled red and his gaze flits to our little group. The older gentleman glances around the room and seems to see us. He glances at Brue, tucks the brunette's arm under the crook of his own, pats it gently with his own giant hand, then strides toward us. Brue has no other choice but to follow along. He gives a half-hearted wave to Peeta when the lion of a man stops at the outskirts of our little group.

"Are you gonna introduce us to yer friends, laddie? Or stand there like yer daft?" the lion says.

_Holy crap. The lion of a man has a brogue! And he's ragging on Brue._

I like him already.

 


	9. Dinner With Friends

We end up at the frat house for dinner that night, frankly because I can't take another minute of Charles, Christian and Caleb and I know there will be something for them to do there. At bare minimum, we can play basketball or video games, or foosball, or I-don't-give-a-fuck-as-long-as-they-shut-up. Peeta's helping his dad, my dad, and Madge's dad figure out the barbecue. Brue and the lion – who turns out to be his grandpa - have yet to make an appearance. My brothers are playing video games with Gale and Finn, who seem to have no lingering animosity over the Madge incident. I'm a little envious, really, of their easy camaraderie. My mom is presumably giving Katniss and Madge fashion advice or something.

At least, that's what I think they must be doing, until Mom calls me over and I discover they are talking about their majors. Madge is explaining that she's pre-dentistry. Did I know that? I know there are at least a few people who would love to be drilled by her, that's for sure. Katniss explains that she's studying psychology. I can tell that Mom assumes that it's due to a deep seated desire to help other people. I'm fairly certain, though, that it stems from her fucked up childhood.

"Jo? I'm still not clear why you're studying mechanical engineering. Why not something that gives you a broader background, or that leads you into helping people, like Katniss here?" Mom hasn't really understood my choice since I declared it. She thinks business would be more fitting. I know that the guys are all minoring in business as sort of a fall back if their majors don't work out. I don't want to do that. For me, it's all or nothing.

I shrug and roll my eyes. "I want to make a better vibrator. Isn't that helping people?" I see Madge bite her lip to keep from smiling.

"Jo…" Mom shakes her head. "I'm not sure where all of this sarcasm is coming from today." I hear the censure in her tone. I don't want to give her a hard time - it's not her fault that I wasn't exactly the real me while I was at home – it's just hard for me to put aside everything I'm becoming so I can toe the line for her and dad today. Hell, I'm just now starting to figure out who the real me _is_.

"I like math. I like to build things. It seemed like a natural match up." I really don't want to hear her tell me that I'm limiting myself or that I might not succeed. She should know by now that the quickest way to get me to do anything is to tell me not to do it.

Shocking, right?

She rubs a circle on the table with a perfectly manicured nail. "I'm glad classes are going well. You know I only want you to be happy, right? We've been worried about you for so long and you've made such good friends…"

I don't let her finish her _We Just Want What's Best speech._ I hop to my feet, ask if anyone else wants something from the kitchen, then make my escape.

"…Peeta here was the runt of the litter." Mr. Mellark has Peeta's head in a good-natured headlock.

Dad laughs incredulously. "I find that hard to believe. He's a big guy!"

"Yours will be big soon enough. Your oldest is twelve?" He finally releases Peeta, who shoots me a pained look. Like the weekend can't be over soon enough. _Amen, brother._ It makes me want to laugh at how pathetic we both are.

Dad looks in my direction. "My oldest is right here." He gets up to hug me; it's not like we're the world's most hugg-y family or anything, but I guess having me out of sight for four months has given him something to think about.

"I really wanted a girl." Mr. Mellark says wistfully. "Peeta was supposed to be our girl."

"Girls pose their own sets of challenges." Mr. Undersee says while he slices tomatoes.

Dad snorts. "Tell me about it. Jo here is a good kid. As a principal, though, I hear crazy stories all the time."

I narrow my eyes at Peeta. He looks like he wants to burst into laughter at the idea that my dad is a principal. He covers his brief laughter with a well-modulated, "Mr. Mason, Johanna is very circumspect. It's why we're friends." If his own dad hadn't just released him from a headlock, I might put him in one. Circumspect, my ass.

Brue, the lion and the dark haired lady walk through the door at just that moment. I know Peeta won't be able to resist bringing him up to speed. "Hey, Brue. I was just telling Jo's dad, who is a _principal_ by the way, what a good influence Jo here has been on all of us."

Brue's eyes dance. "Oh, she has totally been a paragon of virtue." _You guys suck._ I send them the message with my facial expression. Clearly, Brue gets it from the smirk he's wearing.

I try to change the subject. "Peeta, are you making those cheese buns again? I hope so. Dad, the Mellarks own a bakery and Peeta's cooking is legendary."

Peeta blushes and his Dad gives him a strange look. "Son, you made cheese buns?"

I throw my mind back to the barbecue and don't even let him answer. I'm bossy, alright? So sue me. "Yeah. We had burgers with some sort of onions and a spicy sauce on cheese buns. I can't remember the whole menu – I bet Everdeen does though – but he even made a chocolate cake for dessert. It was… it was probably the best meal I've ever had that wasn't a restaurant." Mr. Mellark's face has gone a little pale and his eyes are suddenly sad when he swings them to Peeta.

"Jo, help me take these outside. Mr. Undersee, are you manning the grill? We'll get it ready for you." Peeta asks. He avoids his dad's unspoken question.

We walk to the grill silently. Finally, I have to ask, "You ok, Peet?"

He gives a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I guess…it's just shocking, him being here. Like two parts of my life are colliding."

I snort. "At least your dad's not a freaking principal. Talk about the ultimate buzz kill. I barely needed birth control in high school, that's how much of a goody-goody I was." I give an exaggerated shudder.

Peeta laughs.

-o—

"Laddie, ye don't have a lassie? Ye got no game. That's yer problem." The lion of a man is pointing his scotch glass at Brue. He had scoffed at the offer of beer with dinner, explaining that Corona and Miller light were swill, not beer, and promptly pulled out two bottles of Glenfiddich. All of the dads have since switched to scotch and soda or scotch neat, while my mom and Brue's grandmother are drinking vodka and cranberry juice. We're a pretty festive group a couple of hours later.

"Grandda, it's not like any of us have one."

"Then all of ye lads need to be schooled. At yer age, ye should be searching for the right lass to complete ye. I was only twenty when I met my Elizabeth." The lion smiles warmly at his wife. I'm sure there is an epic love story there. I'm equally sure he would love to tell it. Brue, however, does not seem inclined to let him share.

Mr. Undersee, surprisingly chimes in, "I was twenty-one when Patricia and I met. I asked her if I could buy her a soda at a gas station." He stares at his drink, then smiles up at Madge like she and her mother were worth whatever he's been through in the twenty odd years since that day.

"When I was twenty I was sure I was going to marry Lucy Everdeen, Katniss's mom." Peeta's dad smiles at Katniss, who looks like she's about to spew beer out of her nose. "She left me, though. Ron Everdeen could sing and dance like nobody's business. I couldn't compete with that, so I found Kim." He walks over to my restless younger brothers and asks if they want to help him make dessert. When no one's a taker, he tells them that he's going to show them how to use power tools to decorate a cake.

Yeah. It's pretty obvious how he raised three young boys.

The lion thumps his ham hock sized hand on his thigh. "That's what I'm talking aboot. Dancing and singing is how ye woo her. Come on Elizabeth. Let's show these young fowk how it shuid be done."

For such a large man, he moves gracefully with his wife. I suppose they should move easily after years of being together. Still, he holds her reverently and the look he shoots her is so full of warmth and heat, so tender, that I fall a little bit in love with him.

And I don't even _like_ red heads.

Finn asks me to dance. Never one to be outdone by a senior citizen, he moves me around next to the older couple as we copy their steps. I have a new appreciation for the older man as Finn struggles to guide me around the floor. When the lion dips his wife, she laughingly swats at his shoulder. "Angus, stop showing off in front of the young people."

In a move that Finn should patent, he cuts in and I'm dancing with the lion. He winks at me and spins me around until I'm laughing and breathless. I notice my mom and dad also dancing, then Madge and her dad join us. Gale and Katniss share a look, then they too are dancing. Brue just stands and watches the whole thing like we are ridiculous.

"Lad, ye should go git yer keyboard and play. Since ye can't dance." Brue's grandpa is relentless and I love it.

"He plays?" It's out of my mouth before I realize I've said anything.

The lion laughs. "Of course. He comes from a long line of Highland musicians." He leans closer to me. "Poor lad is goin-ta waste his talent producing."

I'm having a great time, so I smile up at him. "Don't you think that's his decision – what he does with his life?"

The lion throws his head back and laughs and his whole body moves when he does. "Lass, ye have a lot of spunk. What are yer intentions toward my grandson?"

"Intentions?" I sputter, laughing. His candor takes me aback but it's refreshing all the same.

He nods.

"I don't have any intentions towards him." I can't help but sneak a look at where Brue is dutifully setting up a keyboard, his frown firmly in place.

He pats my shoulder with his giant hand. "Ah, lass. Yer lying to yerself. Now, I can see ye have spunk to spare and yer a bonnie lass to boot. Ye would be good for him. But if ye only want him for his body, ye should pass because that one feels things deeply and his heart's been broken afore."

I'm torn between the discomfort of talking to this man about sex and the insatiable curiosity about the state of Brue's heart. He must see the agony on my face because he laughs again. "I ken see I've tickled yer imagination. Ye'll have to ask him aboot it."

"You are a crafty old man, you know that?" I can't believe he's given me a mystery to solve, as if he knows I just can't resist it. It dawns on me that he knows me better after one night than my mom does.

"Lass, I've been called worse."

We laugh together before my dad cuts in.

-o—

"I can't believe Mr. Mellark and the boys sculpted a car out of cake. I'm sure they are going to drive my dad crazy because they suddenly think baking is cool." I'm laughing over what has turned out to be a great night.

Katniss laughs as well. "I can't believe how good it was. What was that? Lemon and custard filling? I could have eaten the whole thing." It turns out that Peeta's not the only Mellark who knows how to get Everdeen to eat. I wonder if that's how Mr. Mellark tried to woo Katniss's mom. "I almost wish we were all spending the day together tomorrow."

"Yeah." We're all doing our own separate things the next day. My family is taking Katniss with us to Universal Studios. I'm not sure what everyone else is doing. After the fun night we've spent, though, I echo her wish that we were all going somewhere together.

After dancing, Katniss had wowed everyone with her singing voice. Brue and Madge had played a keyboard duet and the lion had launched into some Highland song that had us clapping and stomping our feet. Brue had played _Just the Way You Are_ for my parents, who claim it's their song. Hearing him sing was eye-opening. Watching my parents get all cheesy as Brue sang it was an added bonus.

"Hey, Mason. Got a minute?" I hear a familiar voice from the open stairwell door behind us.

Katniss looks over my shoulder. "Hey, Brian. Looking good today. Jo, I'll see you later." She winks in my direction, knowing I may not end up in our room tonight.

I straighten my spine, conflicted. On the one hand, his voice alone makes my knees weak. On the other hand, it's already been a great night and I just want to go to bed. Alone. Then again, I think back to him in his dress uniform from earlier today and know I might be persuaded. My mind is made up when he moves very close to me.

Even though we're still not touching, I can feel every single inch of him behind me as he leans in close to my ear. "You look so amazing today, Johanna. I have to confess that what I have in mind may take more than a minute."

I shiver, wanting to lean into him but knowing that public displays of affection while he's in uniform are out of the question. "What did you have in mind?" I'm a little breathless.

"Follow me." He takes my hand and squeezes it gently, weaving our fingers together before letting go and striding toward the stairs. He is, not surprisingly, moving in the direction of his room and I follow him, almost bumping him when he stops suddenly.

"Ladies first," he motions me ahead of him, guiding me with a hand at the base of my spine that burns through the cotton of my sundress. I am suddenly very conscious of his eyes on the sway of my hips and the quiet of the stairwell and am very, very thankful we're only walking up one flight. We reach the landing and I pause to make some quip as I look over my shoulder before opening the door. When his hazel eyes flash and his jaw clenches, he looks quite like Josh Hutcherson in Journey 2: adorable in an intense way. I lose my thought completely when I realize how close to me he is. How intent. His hand closes over mine on the handle and pulls me around to face him until I'm back against the wall. His face descends toward mine fast enough that his light freckles move sharply into focus a matter of seconds before his lips close over mine.

It's hard to think after that: this is forbidden and entirely out of character for him. We're in a stairwell where anyone could discover us and Brian is in uniform. That means they'll take him to the stocks and throw tomatoes at him if we're discovered. (I've never been sure of the punishment, but he never, ever disgraces the uniform with public displays of affection. Never.) His lips cling to mine; I smell his soap and the starch of his shirt and I'm so turned on even without his hands touching me that I can't think. When his hands slide down my arms and entwine with mine, sliding and rubbing the soft flesh between my fingers, it has me gasping for breath.

He pulls back slightly, flashing the slight dimple he has in one cheek. "You should wear dresses more often. Come on." And he guides me gently down the hallway to his room.

-o-

"I am so sore." I groan and flop back into my bed. It's a good thing Brian and I have a _leave no visible marks_ rule or I'm pretty sure at least one of us would have a lot of explaining to do to our parents today. As it is, I'm wearing the longest pair of shorts I have in case his fingers or teeth left any evidence on my thighs.

Everdeen is already up, showered and dressed. "I have no sympathy."

I grin at her: I can't help it. "You shouldn't. If you even _knew_ what he did to me last night…?" My legs are still boneless from being propped up on his desk while he worked me with his mouth and later…well, let's just say that I'm pretty sure his uniform will need to be dry cleaned before he can wear it again.

Katniss throws a pillow at my head as she laughs. "Jo! Shut up. Seriously. It's not fair that you get to have all the fun. Now get up and get dressed before I tell your dad about Brian and what he's doing to you."

I narrow my eyes because I wouldn't put it past her to take her payback in one big chunk, but I can't miss one last parting shot. "You know, if you would just jump Peeta already, you could have some fun too."

I hear her laughter and the thump of something hitting the door just as I escape to the shower.

-o—

I don't cry when my family leaves, knowing I will see them in a few weeks at Thanksgiving. To be honest, I'm so exhausted from all the funnel cake, cotton candy and fudge from Universal that I can barely see straight. The boys have also gone past having fun to just plain annoying and I can tell that even Katniss is ready to just collapse from all the rollercoasters and walking and eating.

Not to mention that I think I pulled a groin muscle last night. I wonder if this is what old people sex is like: do you have to think about how sore you are going to be the next day and does it just wreck the spontaneity of the moment? Because if this is how it is, then I am so totally making my position bucket list so I can get through them all before I'm twenty five.

We have a final reception on Sunday night after the families have left. I'm not sure why. All of us gather together in our exhaustion. I notice quite a few people look like they've been crying or and I wonder whose bright idea it was to plan something like this when we're all the walking dead. We all sit together: Katniss, Madge, Finn, Peeta, Gale, and I. Only Brue is a no-show.

There's a special speech from a faculty member and a poem about family from a Resident Advisor. I want to roll my eyes, but I try to remain respectful – as if the last day or two with my parents have rubbed off on me. Effie explains that she has surprises for all of us: it's tradition to ask each family to send a gift to their freshman, a token to keep with us for the rest of the semester and remind us of home.

She calls us up one by one and hands us various sized packages. Even those whose families didn't come have gifts, so the first one called up is Katniss who takes her box like she's in a daze. Hawthorne is next, then me. Finn and Peeta are called, then Madge. Brue's nowhere to be seen, nor is his name called, which his weird until someone says that student athletes have their own party. Of course. I see Brian, though, and he gives me a wink as he goes to get his package.

I wonder if his tongue is sore.

My friends are all ripping the wrapping paper off of their gifts. Undersee has a beautiful blue angora cardigan that will make her look like freaking Venus. Katniss looks thrilled with her _Hello Kitty_ pajamas, which are the ultimate birth control. At least they don't match her normal color palette, which is basically _Duck Dynasty_ meets _Marine Corps._ Gale's got a variety of kid paintings, presumably from his family. There're so many Hawthornes that, in my head, they're like the _old lady who lived in a shoe,_ and it looks like every single kid did some sort of craft project just for him. There's also an old Motley Crue concert T-shirt which I'm sure must have belonged to his dad: it's awesomely vintage and Hawthorne touches it reverently. Finn laughs as he opens a card and pockets twenty bucks, explaining to us that his grandmother has sent him a birthday card and twenty dollars every single month since he came to school – like she's forgotten when his birthday actually _is_ and is stuck on repeat. He doesn't even seem upset that there isn't a gift from his dad and I wonder, not for the first time, how much Finn even registers that he has a parent.

Peeta's reading the card that came with his gift bag and frowning.

I'm refusing to open my small box. I'm sure it's jewelry, which is just going to make me feel horrible. Finn finally prods me into pulling off the pink wrapping paper. I gingerly remove the lid and find a little note that reads, "I think you're through with princesses so I got you an engineer instead. Love you, Dad." Beneath the note is a chain with a small Tinker Bell charm decorated with Swarovski crystals. It's exactly the thing that would have made my sister envious enough that she would have begged for one too. Tinker Bell sparkles as I twist it in the light, making rainbows that reflect the tears I won't let fall.

_Fuck_.

I sniff.

I look up to see Katniss teasing Peeta, "Come on, Peeta, we all opened ours. Open it!"

Peeta flushes a little. _What the hell is in his bag?_ "Yeah, Peeta. What could possibly be in the bag that you can't open it in front of us?" I say, as I slide the lid back on Tinker Bell. I'll cry more later over the fact that my dad is finally showing support and accepting my major, even though it wouldn't be his choice for me.

"Nothing. It's just a joke from my brothers." He clutches the bag closer to his chest when Everdeen grabs for it.

She wrestles the card from where it sticks out of the top, clears her throat and starts to read, "Hey, runt. Hope you're studying hard. We're assigning you another subject you'll have to master if you want us to give you any respect. Enclosed is what we like to call the Mellark bible so that you can become an expert like we are." Katniss raises an eyebrow. "What did they send you?" She boldly reaches for the bag, which is wedged against his body.

Peeta overreacts and jerks the bag which spills the contents on the floor. It's like slow motion when Katniss leans down to pick it up: I can tell the second she can read the title because her eyes go wide and swivel back to Peeta's. The urge to giggle is just too much but I try to hold it in so I can see her reaction: it's as if the very thought of that book being read by one Peeta Mellark is going to make her spontaneously combust.

Because, my friends, the book is entitled: She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman.

Finn comes to the rescue. "Cool. Hey, Peet. Can I borrow that? Maybe I want to study to be an honorary Mellark."

We all laugh and Peeta picks up the book to hand to Finn. "Go ahead, man."

"I promise I'll give it back after I've field-tested the techniques," Finn winks. I'll even put some notes in the margins. I'm all about helping a brother out."


	10. Help from Strange Places

_Everything is blue and I move slowly, languidly. Even though it's been years since I've done it, I realize I'm swimming and I'm tired, like I've been doing it for a while. For some reason, I'm annoyed at my sister - "Carys," I call, but it's in my head, not out loud. I know that she can't hear me. I tread water and move my arms, but the water is murky and I am not moving quickly. I'm frustrated and annoyed that I can't get to her and that she won't answer me, even though I know she's here somewhere. My clothes don't make it any easier, clinging to me and dragging me down, making me less buoyant. It dawns on me that it's weird that I am fully clothed and underwater._

_A lighter spot appears as bright light filters through the water and it seems to glow with a pink light. Relief rushes through me bypassing the annoyance: I know I'll be with her soon. I kick my legs and ignore the burning in my lungs as I struggle to reach her. She isn't so much swimming away from me as floating, aimlessly moving in some sort of current. Her eyes are shut, her lips blue. It scares me. When I finally reach her, grabbing her arms with my hands, they are cold as ice. I fight to keep hold of her, knowing that I need to get both of us up, up out of the water to air._

_Her eyes pop open. I open my mouth in a silent scream, feeling the water rush into it even as I recoil from her. I hear her voice echo in my head as her cold, blue lips say, "I hate you."_

I jolt awake. It takes me a minute to get my bearings and slow my heart rate: I'm in my dorm room. Everdeen is still asleep, her week-old Hello Kitty pajamas visible in the weak, yellow light filtering in from the streetlamps outside our window. I take a deep breath, then another, trying to clear the image of Carys, the cold, slippery feel of her hands in mine.

I shudder and do the only thing that I can think of, the only word that keeps repeating in my head. _Run,_ it says, as it has every single night this week. So I pull on socks and sneakers, a sports bra, a tank top and shorts. I grab my key card and cell phone, headphones and armband from my dresser. The door clicks behind me quietly.

Rock music blares in my ears as my feet strike a rhythm on the pavement. I don't bother warming up and start with a pace designed to make me concentrate solely on putting one foot in front of the other. There is nothing else: no nightmares, no little sisters, no tears or crushing guilt, just the sounds of my heart beating and breath whooshing in and out.

This is the fourth night in a row that I've had the nightmare. The first night, it woke Katniss, who tried to get me to talk through whatever was bothering me. Yeah. Like that was going to happen. The second, it woke Brian. I was able to distract him from asking me about it with a different sort of exhaustion. The third night I discovered that, if I exhausted myself before bed, I wouldn't wake up screaming.

But I still woke up.

I circle campus once, twice, then three and four times until the burning in my legs and lungs is a steady thing and my body barely feels like my own. I veer onto campus - a new path – deciding that I am tired enough to do one more circuit then head back to the dorm. With any luck, that will put me back in bed before three. I can sleep in tomorrow, since it's Saturday and I am looking forward to that after a week of sleepless nights.

I'm not really paying attention. My feet are still slapping on the pavement and _Lunatic Fringe_ is echoing through my ears as I run through a mostly unlit Music School quad. It's doesn't occur on me to be afraid until a hand shoots out and grabs my arm. Suddenly, I'm fighting like a hellcat, adrenaline pumping through me.

"Jo! Hey! Jo! Stop it!" The hand that grabbed me has turned into two arms that are holding me while I thrash until I finally recognize who it is.

_Of course it would be him._

"Jo, what's going on? Are you ok?" It almost sounds like there's real concern in Brue's voice.

I push his hands off. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He laughs wryly. "I don't know. Maybe because it's almost two in the morning, you're running like demons are chasing you and are mostly unclothed?"

"You're the campus police now? I'm fine. What are you doing out here?" Even I can hear the petulance in my voice. I wince. God, I'm a bitch.

He thrusts his hands into his pockets. "Just working on an assignment for music. I can't get it right." He shrugs and looks away uncomfortably, like admitting a weakness to me is something he doesn't want to do. His eyes come back to assess me, "You sure you're ok?"

When I nod, he surprises me by saying, "I was just going to go grab a doughnut. Want to join me?"

I'm even more surprised when I hear myself say yes.

-o-

Brue escorts me to his car – a BMW, of course. He is surprising solicitous, especially given my mono-syllabic responses.

"Nice car." I say begrudgingly.

"Thanks. It was a graduation gift from my dad."

I slide into the leather interior, wondering if my sweat will stain it. The whole car is neat, clean and smells like Brue: a mix of chlorine and guy. And I don't mean that in a bad way. He waits until I'm belted up before starting the car. I'm surprised when there's no music playing as I was pretty sure he would listen to something epic. The silence descends as we go the 2 blocks to Figueroa. I'm pretty sure it's going to be the longest two blocks of my life.

"You made quite an impression on my grandda the other night. He can't stop talking about you."

"Oh? What does he have to say?" I recover from the jolt that runs through me when he starts talking. He's using a low voice, quiet. Rumbly. I can't tell if it's the close confines of the car, the late hour, or the fact that we are alone that makes me tremble a little. Hell, for all I know it's the remnants of the dream making me emotional.

Brue thinks for a minute, his hands tapping lightly on the steering wheel; he has artist hands with long, capable fingers. "Let's see… _Lass has spunk to spare! She's a sharp one, that Jo. She's wuirth ye gettin' to know her…_ What did you do, slip something in his drink?"

I laugh to cover the sting I've come to associate with Brue and his opinions. Plus, the thought of me slipping Special K into the Lion's scotch is freaking hysterical. Brue does a great impression of his grandpa's brogue – somewhere between Sean Connery and Gerard Butler, so I hone in on that. "Maybe I told him that haggis is my favorite food…and that's a great brogue you've got there. You should use it to pick up chicks since otherwise _ye've got no game._ " I do my best to capture the lilting speech of the lion from a week ago.

He laughs suddenly, head thrown back, the strong column of his neck fascinating in the light from the parking lot. His teeth flash and I am once again transfixed by how attractive he is when he smiles.

" _Come on, then, lass. Let's get ye a doughnut to soothe your ills."_ He teases. I love it.

We get our doughnuts and slide into bright orange plastic chairs. I must look a little strange in my sweaty fitness gear this late at night because I notice a cop looking over at our table. I smile at him in case he thinks something is wrong and he immediately goes back to his own snack. A wave of fatigue hits me as I pick up a doughnut, like smiling for the cop was way too much effort, and I gingerly put the doughnut back on the napkin.

"Jo? You ok?" Brue is concerned.

"Yeah, fine, I guess. Not hungry. You want mine?" I pass it over to him without a thought.

"Seriously. You just gave up a doughnut? You are not ok. You're supposed to be the _lass with hearty appetites._ " He puts on the brogue. "What's going on?" He licks his fingers and frowns at me when I am distracted by the tip of his tongue. "Jo? Earth to Jo… You're running in the middle of the night like Leatherface himself is chasing you and now you're being all weird. Quiet. It's not like you."

I shrug, pulling my knees up to my chest and already feeling the soreness in my calves and thighs setting in: maybe I pushed it a little bit too hard. "I had a nightmare. I couldn't sleep." I shudder again at the mental picture of Carys's hair floating in the murky water; her oddly glowing pale skin and her blue, blue lips.

"Want to talk about it? I'm a good listener." He finishes my doughnut and clasps his hands on the table, patiently waiting.

And now I'm angry. I don't _want_ to talk. "God, why does everyone want me to talk? It won't bring her back. If you think this is where I need your pity or want to confide all my bullshit to you, you're wrong. If I wanted to cry, I would have stayed in my dorm room." I'm afraid I'll crack apart. Because the soreness I feel in my legs is nothing compared to the soreness in my heart.

Brue stares at me heavily and I swear I can almost hear the click that happens when he associates the picture on my keychain and the "her" in my little tantrum. I get ready for the inquisition that I know is coming when he does perhaps the most surprising thing yet: he relaxes completely and leans back in his chair. His eyes don't change. There's not one ounce of the pity I expect there and he doesn't start asking me how I freaking _feel_ , which is probably the only thing he has done _right_ the entire time we've known each other.

"So, judging from the dark circles under your eyes, you're probably not going to sleep tonight, right?" There's almost no emotion in his voice. No judgement. It's like he's reciting the weather.

It makes it easy to answer. "No. Probably not." I sigh.

"Well, feel like helping me out? I've got a music assignment that is kicking my ass. And music's just one of the topics on which you have no shortage of opinions."

I gape at him: he must be kidding. He wants me to _help_ him? We're barely friends and he can't stand my opinions. The truth is, though, I don't want to go back to my dorm and lay in the darkness waiting for sunrise. I would rather gnaw off my left arm than do that, which is why I'm seriously considering his offer.

"Ok. But we're going to need some more doughnuts."

"Deal." He holds out his hand and I take it.

-o—

I jolt awake, totally disoriented. _Where the hell am I?_ I sit up in the papasan chair and look around. The movement makes the headphones I'm wearing clatter to the ground next to the blanket someone's placed over me. Holy crap. I'm in Brue's room. And from the light coming in from the window, it's got to be mid-morning. Fuck. Everdeen is probably freaking out.

I hazily recall that we had gotten to the frat house and argued about Brue's assignment for at least a couple of hours. I told him that he was obviously trying to rip off David Guetta. He added a few more elements with a frown and I asked him if he was going for arena rock or dance. He quipped that those two things really weren't that different, especially with groups like Swedish House Mafia on the scene.

He had a point there, come to think of it.

So we argued about things like whether the Rolling Stones or Aerosmith are the greatest rock band of all time and even laughed together over what our parents consider music ( _George Michael? MC Hammer? Really?)_ , hyped up on doughnuts and waters from his micro-fridge. When I finally laid back on the papasan and listened to a mellow playlist, I must have fallen asleep. Which means Brue took off my shoes and covered me. Like he cared.

Which is weird, in a my-stomach-flutters-a-teeny-bit-I-won't-lie sort of way.

I reach for my phone, which is charging on Brue's phone charger, text Everdeen that I'm at the frat and then look around like the nosy chick I am. His Mac is open on his desk and there are papers cluttering the surface like a tornado hit it but otherwise the space is remarkably neat and clean. He's got a fair amount of artwork on his walls – all framed, no push-pins or questionable sem-porn pin-ups for Brue – and the color scheme of the entire room seems to be dark gray and burgundy. If I recall, even his car was burgundy. I lean back in the chair and idly wonder if his underwear is also the same color scheme, but the picture it conjures of a shirtless Brue slowly peeling his pants off is so erotic that I cover my face.

His bed is tousled, unmade, like he left it in a hurry. I didn't hear him get up and it's oddly sweet that he left me asleep in his room, alone. Like he trusts me. We might be a far cry from making any of the fantasies I have about him a reality, but we are at least becoming…friends.

I wonder if I'm supposed to hang out or head back to the dorm. After all, this isn't a walk of shame, so what's the etiquette for this? I pick up the headphones and go to place them on his desk when I see a handwritten note on top of his laptop. The single word written in boldly masculine cursive makes my heart stop and then race to catch up.

_Stay._

Fuck. I am in so much trouble.

-o—

I wander down to the kitchen when I smell something fried and yummy to find Everdeen already there. She shrugs and explains her presence with the words _bacon emergency_. I'm not sure what that means, but whatever it is, it smells like hog heaven.

Get it?

Peeta is frowning darkly. His hair is mussed and he has smudges of flour on his cheeks and forehead. He is hovering over a deep fryer and has a giant bowl of something that he periodically stirs while he mutters to himself. He is wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt with an apron over it and he looks a bit like a mad scientist.

I jerk my thumb toward him and whisper to Katniss, "What's up with him?"

She whispers back, "I don't know. I got this text from him that just asked if I could bring 3 pounds of bacon to the frat house as soon as possible. That was a couple of hours ago. Frankly, I'm afraid to interrupt him. He looks a little…preoccupied."

"Ever seen him like this?" I ask. If anyone's got the inside scoop into what makes our bread boy tick, it's Everdeen.

She shakes her head. "I've never been around him when he's actually baking before. Oh, and by the way, what are you doing here?"

It's my turn to shrug. "I ran into Brue last night. He needed help with something." She raises her eyebrow. I finally get what she's implying and I can actually feel heat in my face. Fuck. When was the last time I blushed? "No, not that kind of help Everdeen." At the sight of her pursed lips, I reiterate, "Seriously."

And of course Brue walks in. Of course. It's like he has Jo-embarrassment-radar. Like Jo-P-S.

"Hey, Peet. Ladies. What's going on?" He's toweling off his hair, presumably from some early morning practice. I can smell the chlorine mingling with the smell of bacon and whatever else it is that Peeta is frying. He looks from the two of us huddled at the table to Peeta and back again as if trying to solve the mystery of why it's so quiet.

Peeta mumbles something and pops one of the glaze-drizzled, deep fried things into his mouth. He munches thoughtfully, nods, plates a half dozen and brings them to the table. Before I can reach for one, though, he moves it out of my grasp. "Does anyone know who brought _those_ into my kitchen?" He points at the Spudnuts box that is conspicuously on the counter.

I slowly raise my hand. "Um, it was me."

Blue eyes as sharp as lasers turn my way. "You bought _store bought_ doughnuts into my home?" He utters those words like they are the worst epithet.

"I'm sorry? I wasn't thinking?" He's seriously offended. "Would it help if I said that I just needed a small hit of something to take the edge off?" My hand inches toward the plate of whatever it is that smells so good. He's still holding it away from me. Like my judgment is in question because I brought boxed pastry here.

"Yeah, Peeta. Jo was in bad shape last night. Give her a break." Brue sticks up for me. I shoot him a smile.

Peeta's eyes narrow, still fixated on me. "You need a fix, you come to me directly. None of this second rate stuff. Right? You're gonna eat stuff like that, you don't do it anywhere near my home. We clear?"

I try to keep the laughter out of my voice. "I'm…I'm sorry. Peeta, it won't happen again."

He slides the plate toward me and I scoop up one of the still warm pastries to take a bite. It's like taking a bite of autumn: it's a perfect balance of sweet glaze, cinnamon heat, chunks of tart and chewy apple, and an underlying smoky flavor that can only come from bacon. The flavors meld together on my tongue until I want to do is stack the pastries and jump in the middle of them like I would a pile of leaves.

"What are these?" I hear Brue ask. "They're incredible."

_Who cares?_ I think. I don't care what he calls them, as long as he keeps making them. The kid's not a Bun Bacchus. He's a fucking Fritter Phenom.

"Just one of the things that I can keep coming, as long as you don't insult me with _that_." He jerks his head toward the box on the counter.

"Yeah, we get that. Jo swears it won't happen again." Everdeen says.

"In that case, I've had this idea for a while now. That's a Bacon Apple Fritter." He smiles, all traces of his earlier mad-scientist gone. He looks pretty pleased with himself, as well he should.

"You made this recipe _up_?" Everdeen looks shocked, like Peeta just announced he has an elephant cock.

I can feel my arteries hardening as I eat and I just don't care. I don't care how many laps it's going to take to work off: these are better than crack. I'm pretty sure that cops everywhere would jizz at the mere thought of this pastry. Hell, I'm pretty sure that even his frat brothers will go into a fritter frenzy. They'll have to fight me for them, though, because I'm not about to have only one.

When I've eaten my fill and taken another for the walk back to campus, Peeta chases me out the door, holding the box of Spudnuts like it's a dead animal. "Jo, wait up… You look lousy. Are things that bad?"

"Thanks, Peeta." I smack him on the shoulder. _Way to give a girl confidence._ He shoves the box into my hands.

He pulls off his apron. "I'm being serious. Give me your phone."

Like an idiot, I fish it out of my pocket and hand it to him. "What are you doing?" _Duh. He's putting a phone number into your phone, Mason. What are you, fucking blonde?_

"Putting the number for my therapist in your phone. You should call him." He offers the phone back to me and I take it like it might sting. "He's a good guy."

"I don't want to re-live it." It spills out of me in a quiet rush.

Peeta frowns. "Yeah. I get that. But running is worse. You can't run from who you are forever, Jo. Just think about it."

"If I call him, I can bring Spudnuts into the frat again?" I wink at him, trying to make a deal.

"No. No you may not. They show up again, and you're uninvited from Tuesday dinners."

I hiss and grab my heart like I'm mortally wounded, tuck the box under one arm and back to the dorm.


	11. Tongue Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: This chapter is M for a reason: it contains references to bondage. If that sort of content bothers you, scroll until about one thousand words from the end.)

I'm coming back from class when I get a text from Brian. "Thanks for the gift," it says.

Gift? What gift?

Oh, fuck. _That_ gift. After the night when Finn read Fifty Shades of Grey, I was inspired to order something special for Brian. Something that I was sure, at the time, was going to be an amazing pick-me-up to bring us closer before we both left for Thanksgiving break. Except now I'm not sure of him, or us, or my kinky little gift. _Damn the internet_ for making it way too easy to get carried away.

I have to write something, so I tell him that I'm glad he likes it. He tells me that he has something special planned and asks if I would like to have dinner with him tonight. And I would. Except tonight is Tuesday, and that's dinner with the gang night at the frat house. I don't want to miss it. I ask if we can do a rain check because it's Tuesday and I have plans.

I can tell he's annoyed so I backpedal. After all, he is my boyfriend and he just asked me on a date, which is something we don't _do._ I should at least sound grateful and make an effort, so I tell him I'll skip and we can get together. I'm slightly annoyed when he texts, "Good, because it's all arranged. Oh, and Jo? Wear a dress. See you at my room at 7." Like he just assumed that my plans didn't matter and his would trump mine no-matter-what.

I push the annoyance aside for two reasons: one, I'm curious where we're going all dressed up and two, exactly what are we going to do with the handcuffs that I sent him?

-o—

Katniss looks at me like I'm nuts when I tell her that I'm skipping out on dinner at the frat. "But we're having herb baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans, with poached pears and ice cream for dessert!"

Yeah. Again with memorizing the menu… "Look, I don't want to miss dinner; I'm sure it's going to be fantastic. But Brian asked me out." I calmly explain as I do my makeup. Hey. If I'm putting on a dress, I've got to put on the face armor to go with it.

" _Out_? Or are you both just _eating in."_ Katniss hurls at my head. I'm pretty sure that if her words were arrows she would have hit me dead in the eye.

I shrug, casually deflecting the innuendo. "You know you're just jealous either way." I stick my tongue out at her. "He said to wear a dress, so we must be going out. Look, I don't want to miss it. This is a big deal for me, ok?"

"Yeah. You guys haven't broken up in…what is it… a full month now? Maybe he's taking you out because this is a record. What about Brue?" Katniss crosses her arms across her chest as she watches me get dressed.

Yeah. What about him? I don't want to think about Brian and Brue - they inhabit different parts of my life. Brue and I have been running ten miles a day for a couple of weeks now – ever since the day after my nightmare when he showed up in running clothes. We run without discussing why we run and we barely talk at all, except when I push us harder and farther. That's when we argue over the punishing pace I set in order to find the quiet release I need right now. Sometimes Peeta joins us and his heavy footfalls sound louder than the music I listen to.

"Brue is just a friend." I rifle through my closet so she can't see my face.

"Just a friend? You guys have been spending hours together every day. That seems a little…intense…even for you. What do I tell him when he asks where you are?"

"He won't ask. And if he does, just let Finn cover with some sort of quip." I push to the back of my closet. I've only got a couple of dresses here: there's the sundress I wore when my parents were here and one other in royal blue with tiny little shoulder straps and a flared, float-y skirt. I feel like a flamenco dancer in it and it's always been really tight, so I don't generally wear it. I'm not even sure why it ended up here with me at school, to be honest. So, when I slide the dress on doubtfully thinking that I'll look like a _Dirty Dancing_ reject, I'm pleasantly surprised when it fits.

"How do I look?" If I'm gonna give up an amazing dinner at the frat house, I want tonight to be nice. Perfect, even.

"Nice. If I didn't know any better, I would say that you look like a lady." Katniss says pointedly. "You get that friendship is more important than sex, right?"

"…Says the girl who doesn't get laid." I say and slide black, sling-back heels on. When I'm fully dressed and ready to leave the room, I shoot her a grin. "Bring me back some dessert?"

"Not a chance." She says sourly.

-o-

I'm right on time when I knock on Brian's door. I feel really conspicuous standing in a dorm hallway all dressed up on a weeknight, especially when several guys wink at me and wish me a good night. Exactly how many fucking people know about whatever it is that he has planned?

The door opens just wide enough for me to notice that the room behind him is dark and that he looks amazing in a gray suit with matching tie. His hazel eyes sparkle when they meet mine and especially when they drop to the dress that I'm rocking.

I smile even though I'm suddenly nervous. "Ready?"

"I am." He nods. He swings the door open wider and I spy what he's done to his room.

He's transformed it into a romantic wonderland: twinkle lights edge the bed and there are flameless candles everywhere casting a soft glow. A table with a cloth on it sits in the center of the room and there are real plates and silverware, and even an open bottle of red wine and stemware. A low bowl of roses sits in the center of the table between two more candles. The whole scene just says "romantic set up" and it makes my heart melt a little bit.

"Wow." I breathe as I lean over to smell the roses. "This looks amazing."

"So do you. You should only ever wear dresses." His voice is low. Intimate. Even though we're not touching, I can practically feel little fingers of heat running up my spine. "Have a seat."

"No kiss?" I want him to touch me. The romance of the scene, the fact that he's put all of this together for me and the fact that I know there is a box somewhere with handcuffs in it are already turning me on and I can feel my thighs clench.

"Not yet. I'll serve the appetizers and pour the wine." He holds my chair out for me and walks to the loft area under his bed which has a sheet hung around it. Normally, it's his desk, but it seems like it's an impromptu kitchen area tonight. Some sort of instrumental music begins to play softly and a minute or two later, he returns with a crudité tray of vegetables and a spicy/sweet honey mustard dip. A small tray of crunchy sourdough bread sticks comes next.

He sits across from me and picks up his own glass of wine for a toast, "Tonight is all about you, Johanna. Here's to a great night." I'm suddenly shy as his heated gaze meets mine and I sip my wine. I'm not a huge fan of red wine, especially because this one is sharp and dark and spicy. Not sweet at all.

Sort of the way I feel.

What I really want is ice water to drink and to hold against my throat and between thighs. I can already feel small beads of perspiration forming as the word _Handcuffs!_ repeats in my head in time with my heart, and all of my pulse points to throb. I know ice is at a premium, though, since it can't be made in the micro-fridges we all have. I gulp my wine, instead.

I can't tell you what we eat, just that I have a fleeting impression of a microwave meal served piping hot and some sort of forgettable chocolate lava cake for dessert. The food's not the point of this meal, though. It's foreplay. By the time dinner and dessert are over, I'm a little drunk and a little desperate for him to touch me, which he seems to be studiously avoiding. And I'm not sure what is making me squirm more: the effort he put into the set up, his distance, or what I know is yet to come.

Somewhere during the meal he's removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. I find my eyes drawn to his fingers, especially when they stroke the rim of his wine glass. I'm sure I'm blushing because I want those hands on _me._ I must say the words out loud because he laughs and then winks at me, telling me to relax and finish my wine while he clears the table.

And he does. The entire table gets cleared then folded up, making a little space in the middle of the room. He turns the music up and asks me if I want to dance. And I do. I suddenly get why the lion kept talking about dancing being a big deal: it means that I get to feel his hands on me and our bodies moving together. I crave that right now. I wonder if he'll kiss me and how he'll taste. I'm acting like this is our first time together but I can't seem to stop my mind from wandering into a thousand different directions at once.

I wonder how tipsy I am when I stumble in my heels. Brian's arms come around me to steady me and I gasp at the contact of his hands on my shoulders, especially when they slide lower to rest on my waist. We sway to the music, our bodies staying a full six inches apart. I refuse – absolutely refuse – to rub myself up against him. If he can restrain himself, so can I.

When I stumble again, I giggle. "Maybe I should take off my heels." Brian's not incredibly tall, so it's not like I really need them.

"Let me help you." He guides me over to a chair and I sit, closing my eyes. His hands close on my calf and knead a little before sliding down to the ankle strap of my shoe. I can feel the tug of his fingers and then he slides my foot out of the shoe, cupping and massaging the sole of my foot before moving to the other shoe. His hands feel impossibly good: they are warm and deft as they apply pressure to my instep.

"You painted your toenails." He sounds surprised.

"Of course." I don't think I need to explain to him that I never do anything halfway. He should know that by now. I wiggle my toes and he laughs quietly.

"They're adorable. You're adorable. Thank you for tonight." He casually runs a hand up my calf and squeezes lightly. I melt just a little more in anticipation.

I swallow when he kneels in front of me and leans forward until our foreheads touch. I'm already having trouble drawing breath into my lungs and I swear it's gotten ten degrees hotter in the last thirty seconds. I'm staring at his lips and the little cleft in his chin, knowing I should thank him too – for dinner, for the elaborate plans, for not freaking out when I sent him handcuffs – but _I'm_ sort of freaking out at the slow seduction. I'm not good with slow.

So when he leans forward with his eyes still open and traces my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, I lean in to deepen the kiss. I want more. I run my hands up his tie and around his neck, stroking his earlobes in a way I know will drive him crazy while my tongue chases his. I am greedy, demanding.

He doesn't seem to mind.

His hands find the zipper on the side of my dress and I feel a bit of cool air while his fingers work their magic, first on the dress, then on me. The fabric slides down to my waist and he tugs me to my feet, breaking the kiss, to let it pool at my feet.

"A thong, Jo?" His voice is husky. He kneels in front of me with his hands braced on my thighs, face to face with the smallest pair of underwear I own. He knows I'm partial to boy shorts because they are comfortable. The only reason I even have this tiny scrap of lace is because I bought it on a dare from Finn.

I clear my throat. "It seemed like a special occasion."

He gives an insistent tug on my hips to pull me toward him. He kisses my belly button, swirling it with his tongue while he palms my butt. I push my fingers into his short, dark hair, running my fingers through the softness while he traces shapes with his nose and lips on my skin. I feel warm and wet and full of want.

The need to feel his skin on mine is overwhelming so I tug him to his feet. I almost garrote him with his tie and giggle a little when he has to untangle himself from it. I can handle the shirt buttons, though, and his shirt gives way. While he pulls his t-shirt over his head, I work on his waistband and he makes short work of everything else but his boxer briefs. When he's as naked as I am, I slide my hands across his chest and around his neck until we're touching from shoulder to thigh. I sigh and rub a little so the friction of his chest hair tickles me while he flexes his hands on my hips.

"Bed?" He asks softly. I nod and move to take off my underwear.

"No." His voice is a little harsher. "Leave them on."

Well. That's new.

I climb up onto the loft, aware of his eyes lingering. I'm not overly happy about whatever I'm sure the view is, but I cheerfully decide to let it go in favor of what is in store for us next. I notice the strewn rose petals on the sheets and stop myself from brushing them off. Am I supposed to lay down on top of them? I wish I could have googled this on my phone…I feel a little out of my element and it makes me giggly in a nervous sort of way.

I lay down and close my eyes, vaguely aware of the warmth of the room and the fact that the bed feels like it's moving. I feel like I'm floating, not really in control of my body as I listen to Brian climb up on the bed accompanied by a clinking sound that can only be the handcuffs. I turn my face away from him toward the wall, suddenly embarrassed by the gift. Maybe I'm embarrassed by how badly I want to give up control: how turned on I am to lose myself in him.

Fuck. No wonder Everdeen's reading that book.

He kisses my neck, nuzzling that spot that makes me sigh. When I turn back toward him, he says breathlessly, "Jo. Open your eyes?" He's tracing lightly over my nipple and it's so distracting that I almost don't hear him, until he stops and my eyes pop open. Brian is leaning on one arm watching me. I'm pretty used to this sight: he likes to watch while he gets me worked up, but tonight seems different. Like he wants me to watch him watch me.

Confused yet?

He lowers his head and the suction of his lips around my nipple has me squirming against him. I realize he's naked and am not sure if it's that or the incessant tugging of his mouth and tongue that revs me up like I'm a Nascar driver hitting the gas after a caution flag.

"Are you really going to let me cuff you?" His voice is a little nervous. A little hopeful. I'm arrested by how dark his pupils are and how his hand is lazily tracing the lace of my thong.

I nod and watch his eyes widen. I raise my arms toward him and he runs his hands down to my wrists, tugging them over our heads. I feel the metal loosely cuff one wrist, then the other. "You have the keys, right?" It's my turn to be nervous.

His grin flashes white in the flickering darkness of the candles and twinkle lights, but his eyes are dark and full of want now that I'm a willing captive. "How attached are you to these underwear?" He fiddles with them for a moment, eyes not quite meeting mine.

"They're not a favorite. Why?" I can feel my heart racing at the new sensation of metal against my wrists and the knowledge that he can do anything with those hands and I'm helpless.

"Because I might have to rip them off you later." He grins again, but it's a feral look; one I've not seen on him before and it gets my pulse racing even faster. His mouth dips back to my breast in a leisurely exploration. If anything, the pace he's setting is slower and more deliberate than normal. It doesn't take long before I'm writhing with the need for him to touch more of me. The clinking of the cuffs against the bedframe are a counterpoint to my intake of breath as I realize that I cannot touch him and have to wait patiently for his next move.

And I want to touch him.

I strain a little bit at the cuffs as he traces a hand slowly across my hip to my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I want it. I quiet as I wait for his next move, muscles taut. He slides the thong aside as he moves to lie between my legs and pushes them wide. I feel exposed. I can't tell if it's because I'm still wearing underwear or because of my bound hands, or maybe the fact that I can tell he's staring at me with all of the interest a guy would pay to a Georgia O'Keefe, but I can't get over how intimate this feels.

His thumbs part me and his tongue moves of-so-slowly over me. I hiss because it's so very tantalizing, like small licks of an ice cream cone. Brian likes to take his time but I'm usually one to rush things: I realize, very belatedly, that there will be no rushing things tonight. His tongue moves in the slow circles that he knows will drive me wild and my hips try to move him faster and closer. I want him to take me wider and deeper and make me wetter but I have no way to coax him to do that except with my hips and the cries that I normally don't utter. Things like _more_ and _yes_ and _please_.

It sounds suspiciously like begging. But I don't care.

I can hear myself half-sobbing as my hips undulate, but he's still holding back, keeping me from the one thing I need right now: I want him inside of me and I can't stand it anymore, I'm coiled so tightly.

"Please. Please, I need you inside of me." I whisper. I arch against the bed as I beg. I'm rewarded when I feel him withdraw from me and slide up my body but I dare not hope, not even when I feel the very tip of him slide against me in a way that has tremors already starting.

"Jo." He says. "Jo, look at me."

I'm so close, teetering on the edge, really, and fixated on that part of him that's rubbing so deliciously. It's not until he stops moving that I pry my eyelids apart to meet his gaze. He's got a bead of sweat dripping down his nose, making a path to the constellation of freckles on his cheeks that never cease to fascinate me. His hair is spiky and he's breathing hard. I wriggle against him seeking more friction as the very sight of him aroused makes me even crazier.

He grabs the edge of my thong hard enough that it cuts into my hip and stops me from moving. I stare at him understanding that this is some sort of pivotal moment for us.

He swallows hard. "Jo, I love you." His voice is vulnerable, like he's the one handcuffed.

I know that my eyes must go wide. He's staring at me in a way that tells me that he's expecting something in response. He's even anticipating it, because I feel his hips sliding deliciously along mine, rubbing him against me and poising for what I truly want. I arch toward it even as I know that I'm not getting away from answering him.

My body seems to be answering enough for both of us.

I shiver and he takes it as me being overcome with emotion. He looks at me tenderly and runs a hand along my face, leaning down to kiss my lips. Still, his hips don't move. So I say the only thing I can think of, the only thing that will get us both what we want right at that moment. With his lips lingering against mine, I whisper a lie back to him. He leans his forehead against mine as he sinks himself inside me.

I come apart before he's even fully _there_ , shattering around him as I say it again against his lips.

"I love you."

-o—

I awaken with a jolt, mouth dry and head throbbing. _Where am I?_ I blink groggily. It slowly comes back to me: dinner, wine, handcuffs, _I love you,_ the whole thing. I groan quietly and I ease myself out of Brian's bed, fumbling in the dark for my dress and shoes. I feel the overwhelming need to get the hell out of here and figure out what happened.

I sneak down the hallway and stairs. Pausing at the door to my dorm room to unlock it, I drop my keys. _Fuck_. This is just not my night.

"Jo?" The stage whisper comes at me from down the hall and I freeze, honing in on the noise.

"Finn? What are you doing here?" I whisper back.

He rubs a hand through his blonde hair and I realize how tired he looks. He should: it's got to be three in the morning. He's obviously not here to see me, based on the fact that he looks to have come from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway.

"Did you get kicked out of someone's room again?" I chastise him with a smile on my face. Good 'ole Finn, always so predictable with the ladies.

"No. Well, yeah. But it wasn't like that." The customary Finn Odair smoothness is nowhere to be found and he even looks like he's blushing. I can't help but gape at him. What. The. Fuck? Finn is so smooth that we used to call him _Mr. Silky_ in high school. And it wasn't for his hardwood floors. "Can I…can I crash at your place? Maybe we can grab breakfast in the morning?"

I nod. Finn and I are so used to hanging out together that sleepovers with him are no big deal. I'm not entirely certain that Katniss won't mind, but I'm willing to risk it. I want a friend there for me tonight. One I trust.

So we get ready for bed, me putting on the pajamas I strategically lay on my pillow so I can always find them in the dark, Finn putting on a pair of sweatpants and losing his shirt. We climb into bed and lay next to each other.

"Finn," I whisper into the dark, "Would you ever…lie… and tell someone you loved them if you don't think you do?"

His answer echoes what I know to be true about him: Finn may be a lot of things, but he doesn't lie or lead women on. "No. I've never said those words to a girl."

I make a frustrated noise in my throat. "How do you know? What if I'm in love and don't know it?" Maybe I didn't lie. Maybe I just don't know that I'm in love yet. _Yeah, Mason. And pigs fly._

Finn sounds more thoughtful that I've ever heard him when he says, "I think, when you love someone, you know. If you didn't immediately think yes, then you don't yet. It doesn't mean there isn't hope and you can't fall in love later."

Something in his tone makes me roll toward him and forget my own conundrum for a minute. "Finn, are you ok?"

He laughs lightly. It's not his practiced laugh, but one full of depth, like he's more present and _real_ than he's been in a while. "Yeah. Yeah, Jo. Go to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

-o—

Katniss is aghast when she wakes up to find both me and Finn in my bed. We're completely platonic, that much is obvious from the fact that I'm under the covers and he's over them, but she still looks uncomfortable to wake up and find a guy in her room.

Finn laughs at her and waggles his eyebrows at her rubber ducky pajamas. "Very sexy, Everdeen."

"Yeah. Peeta would probably think so too. I bet little ducks inflame him." I laugh.

"Puppies and kittens too?" Finn laughs and I nod.

She narrows her eyes and points a finger at me. "I don't know what's going on, or why you went to bed with one guy in one room and woke up here with a different one. But we're going to talk about this later. I want details." She gathers her bath stuff together and heads to the door, just as there's a knock.

I hear Everdeen mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, "Why is my room Grand Central Station?"

I don't hear anything else, though, because the person standing at the door is Brian. When he spies Finn and I on my bed, familiar and rumpled from sleeping, his eyes narrow.

_This can't be good._


	12. Sticky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Triggers in this chapter: eating disorder, compulsive behavior and really excessive underage drinking.)

Katniss escapes before anyone can say anything, and Finn finally breaks silence. "Hey, man. I'm Finn." He scrambles off the bed and shakes Brian's hand. Brian looks shell-shocked at both Finn's overture and…well, at Finn. I know that Finn gets that response sometimes – he is an Adonis, after all – but it's still annoying.

"I'm Brian. Nice to meet you. You're Finn? Really? I've heard a lot about you…" Ok, now it's getting old. Brian had seemed a little flabbergasted when I told him that my best friend was a guy. But now that he knows Finn is a hot guy…he seems even more taken aback, like I purposefully misled him or something.

Like being amazingly hot is a fucking crime.

Finn, to his credit, laughs. "Yeah. I hear you're the guy who puts the _O_ in _Jo-hanna._ " He grabs his shirt from the floor where he had tossed it last night. "Jo, I'll talk to you later." He waves at me and heads out the door, carrying his shoes.

"What's up?" I wait until the door shuts behind Finn to ask.

Brian runs his fingers through his short hair, his nervous tell. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."

"I'm fine. I had a nightmare. I just needed…I needed to pace for a while." It's not bothered him that I don't stay the whole night in the past couple of weeks and I wonder what's different about last night. Is this what _I love you_ means to him? Checking up on me? Needing me there all the time?

"Yeah, well. I just didn't expect to find you down here in bed with another guy." His shoulders are tense and I realize that he's serious: he really sees Finn as a threat. I'm not sure whether to laugh at him or be pissed because Finn was in my life long before Brian and he needs to get over it.

I try to tone it down when I say to him, "It was just Finn. I bumped into him while I was making my way down here. He must have gotten kicked out of someone's room."

Brian frowns and runs his fingers through his hair again. "I just thought… well, last night was special."

"It was special for me, too." That part isn't a lie and I mean every word.

"So special that you couldn't stay?" He says sarcastically, but there's hurt in his eyes.

I'm trying with everything I have not to be annoyed. "You know I don't sleep well, especially lately. I would like nothing better than to sleep through an entire night, but it just doesn't happen. You have nothing to do with it." I walk over to him. "Last night was great – really amazing. It didn't wave a magic wand over my ability to make it through an entire night, though."

He's frowning at me like he wants to argue more when there's a tap on the door. I yell for Katniss to come in so she can finish getting ready – Brian is not going to force my roommate out of her own room – and tell him that we'll talk more later.

"Ok." He says. "I love you?"

I can't bring myself to say the words, especially in front of Katniss who is looking at the two of us with her eyes as wide as saucers, so I nod. But I can tell that this conversation is not over by a long shot.

-o—

Someone touches my shoulders with cool hands, running them up and down my heated skin; it feels delightful and it drags me from sleeping to awake. I feel a little shoulder shake as I groggily move my head. When I open I my eyes, I realize I'm asleep with my head on my desk in front of our window. It's hot because of the late afternoon sun streaming in from the window and I'm just glad that I haven't drooled on my keyboard.

"Jo. Jo, wake up." Brue's voice snaps me completely awake even as he moves his hands way.

I rub my eyes and sit up. "I'm awake." My voice is rusty even though I spy by my laptop clock that I've only been asleep for an hour.

"Do you still want to go for a run?" He looks at me doubtfully, like he's not sure anyone who was asleep that heavily a second ago will want to immediately move to heavy physical activity.

But I do. I want to lose myself in a run the same way I was lost in sleep a minute ago.

"Let me just change really quick." I get up and cross to the door to shut it. For a split second, I wonder if Brian will freak out that there is another guy in my room and I shut the door more firmly than I intend, pissed off at the idea of Brian, or anyone, controlling my actions. I cross to my dresser and grab a sports bra and a different tank top to replace the sweaty one I'm wearing. Without another thought, I pull my shirt over my head. I hear a discrete cough behind me.

"What?" I look over my shoulder as I unhook my bra.

Brue is staring at me. "You're just going to change right in front of me." It's not even a question.

"Duh. Haven't you seen me naked or close to it bunches of times now?" Hell. The first time he ever came to my room I nuded up in front of him. Then there was the strip poker party…. Yeah. He's seen me before. "It's not like it's a big deal." I scramble into the sausage casing that is my sports bra, then slide my tank top over my head.

His smile flashes. "Yeah, well, I just thought that it would be different now that we're friends."

I turn to face him. "Let me get this straight: I'm supposed to care _more_ about being naked in front of you because we know each other? That's weird. They're just boobs: once you've seen 'em, it's not like they look different over time." I shrug.

Brian's disapproving face from earlier in the day flashes in my head; I doubt he would feel the same way.

He shakes his head and laughs. " _Just boobs._ You really don't get how guys think, do you?"

-o—

We're back in my dorm room after doing fifteen miles, waiting for Katniss, Madge, and Gale to meet up with us for dinner because somehow bad dining hall food tastes better with friends.

Brue is frowning at me as we stretch. "You're pushing yourself pretty hard, Mason."

"How so?" I guzzle some water from my Bobble. Some dribbles out onto my pink tank and I don't even think twice about how messy I look because the cool water feels so good. I would pour the whole thing over my head if I didn't think Katniss would flip out about a puddle on our carpet.

He shrugs. "You keep pushing yourself on the pace. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just… I need the physical activity." I don't add that it's the only time my brain isn't going a million miles an hour, pushing and pulling me until I feel mentally exhausted. Running is the only way that I can get my brain to shut off so I can sleep at night: I'm beating up my body so my brain can rest.

"But it's harder and faster every day." ." He's thoughtful when he says it, like he's trying to figure out my motivation. When I smirk at him, he snorts. "Not like that."

I spread my legs into a "v" and push my torso to the floor, hamstrings already tightening up. "What's the matter, MacLeod? You starting to feel like you can't keep up?" _Ha._ Like that's even possible. The guy barely broke a sweat today. I wonder exactly how much conditioning he does for water polo.

He smirks. "No. Just… running is new for you and I don't want you to get hurt."

 _Oh, I'm already hurt, Brue._ _This is just anesthesia._ "I'll be fine." I dismiss his concerns. I'm going to do whatever I want anyway, and he doesn't get a vote.

"But…" he sounds doubtful.

"Look. If I were a guy, would you be giving me this lecture?" I look at him pointedly. "Because I'm betting the answer to that question is no. Girls aren't fragile. I won't break."

He frowns. "If you were a guy and I cared about you, I would still bring it up. Everyone has a breaking point, Jo."

I stare at him for a minute, wondering what that means when I hear Gale and Madge coming down the hallway. Their bickering breaks the sudden heaviness of the mood.

"Yams should be baked like a potato, not pureed." Madge sounds every inch the correct dame.

"But you can't put marshmallows on baked yams. Baked yams are just another vegetable. You need that slurry of sweet, melted marshmallows to make them taste good."

"Maybe you need that, Gale. My waistline and I do not need it, thank you."

"Oh, Madge. Lighten up about the calories. It's a holiday. Hey, where's Catnip?" Gale asks as they walk in the door.

"Not back yet. You guys having a good discussion?" I cock an eyebrow at the two of them.

Madge flips her hair. "Jo, tell him that marshmallows and yams do not belong anywhere near one another."

I'm about to give my opinion when Brue holds up his hand. "Let me answer this: I'm pretty sure I know your opinion." He's squinting at me like we can mind-meld. "I'm gonna say that Johanna is wholeheartedly for marshmallows on her yam casserole. Possibly with butter and molasses, maybe pancake syrup, brown sugar, and whatever else is sweet and not bolted down in the kitchen cupboard."

"Oh, really?" I cross my arms over my chest. "What makes you say that?"

Brue crosses his arms too. "I don't know. Maybe the tubs of frosting you eat were my first clue? Or maybe the fact that you dive into Peeta's baked goods like you're going off a ten meter platform? Tell me I'm wrong."

 _Fucker._ I glare at him because he's right. It's like Finn has imparted all of my food secrets to him.

"Hey, everyone! Jo, look who I found in the hallway… _again_." Katniss emphasizes the word as she walks in the door with Brian, who looks around the room and immediately hones in on Brue and I: our sweaty outfits, and the obvious tension between us. At least, it seems that way because his eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenches. Which would be sexy, if I weren't still a little bit pissed off by our conversation this morning.

I introduce Brian to everyone, leaving out the title of boyfriend because it makes me uncomfortable in a way I do not want to examine closely. I can tell that everyone remembers it from our conversations at the frat house, though. Gale immediately invites him to dinner with us, but Brian declines; I know he likes to eat dinner with the other Navy guys, so I'm doubly surprised to see him darken my door at this hour.

"Jo, can I talk to you for a second?"

I tell the group to go ahead and that I'll catch up. Katniss throws me a concerned look, like her personal motto is _no man left behind,_ but I wave her off. I'd rather have this conversation alone than with some sort of audience and we can't keep putting it off.

"I just wanted to apologize for jumping to conclusions this morning. I'm not sure what I thought would happen after last night, but waking up alone wasn't really in my plan." He laughs a little. "So, when I saw you and Finn, I guess I just flipped out."

I nod. I guess I can see how it would have been a shock. "Ok. But it's just Finn. He's like my brother."

Brian raises an eyebrow.

"Ok, my exceptionally hot brother. Don't be a hater, Bri."

He smirks. "He's not the only one, Jo." He motions his hands around my dorm room. "All of the guys here tonight are your friends? …what am I supposed to think?"

I walk forward and poke him lightly in the chest. "You're supposed to trust me. How can you say…what you said to me...and not trust me?" I'm angry again because I've never done anything to make him doubt that I'm faithful. He should know by now that when I'm with him, I'm _with him._ "It's not like we spend a ton of time together, but I still trust _you."_

"Well, maybe we should change that…spending time together. Would you be up for that? Maybe I'd feel better about your friends if I knew them too."

I nod, only partly understanding. I don't get the need for all the qualifiers, all of the need for details. For me, it's simple: I trust him. That means no bullshit, just trust.

"Ok. Well, we can talk more about that later. I'll let you get to dinner – I love you." He kisses me lingeringly and seems to be waiting for something.

I feel a jolt of recognition. _He wants me to say it back._ "Love you," I say. But I don't meet his eyes.

Once he leaves, I grab my arm strap and phone: I won't be heading to the dining hall tonight after all.

-o-

By Saturday, I feel like my body is beginning to adjust to my own personal hell: I'm running ten miles a day with Brue and another ten before bed in an effort to collapse. In between I go to classes. I allow myself one meal a day and no sweets. I want _control_ over something in my life because almost every part of it is weighing on me. I want to prove to myself – to everyone, really – that I can _do_ this. I'm an adult. I can handle school and my fucked up family situation and a boyfriend that rocks my world in some ways but doesn't make my heart sigh.

If Brue thought I was pushing myself hard before, I'm not sure what he would call this training and deprivation exercise. Except that he doesn't seem to notice and I probably wouldn't stop even if he did. My muscles are cramping and tight almost every day and I have to stretch just to get out of bed: but it does help me sleep for at least a few hours every night.

Brian and I haven't slept together since our argument the day after the handcuffs. I know that he has expectations that we'll spend some time together this coming week before we both leave for Thanksgiving and maybe even hang out with all of my friends. I'm personally hoping that everyone is busy so that I can use the break to think about what my next move is. I just need to get my feet under me and get a clear idea of how to either tell him that I don't love him or to make myself fall for him. Easy, right?

I feel trapped, like his words put handcuffs on my soul that night. How does one backpedal on a vow of the heart? I need to figure it out and _fast_.

-o—

Katniss and Finn convinced me to party at the frat house and I agreed, thinking it would help me blow off steam. Finn wasn't surprised, unlike Katniss, when I said that Brian wanted to tag along. I had been half-hoping that he couldn't come when I texted him our plans for later that night. He had immediately let me know how excited he was to come along. I'm disappointed in myself because I should _want_ him to come along: he is my boyfriend, after all, even if I'm not sure how I feel about him.

We're all at the frat house and I'm drinking whatever Brian puts in my cup. It's not beer, but some sort of purple Kool-Aid concoction. Katniss and Gale are playing beer pong, Madge and Finn are holding court with the beautiful people. Peeta and Brian are talking about soccer while I tune them out. Brue is nowhere to be found.

I know this because I'm looking for him.

The minute I figure this out, I gulp down the grape flavored concoction and pass a sidelong, guilty glance at Brian. Truth is I'm bored. As in, mind numbing, get-me-really-drunk bored: if I'm not here to spar with Brue, and I'm not here to flirt with other guys, why am I here? Brian is like the ultimate fun-killer.

I've got people coming up to me and saying hello. Quite a few of them are guys, and they're saying stuff like, "Hey, Jo! Are you gonna play strip poker tonight?" Someone else asks if Finn and I are going to lead a So. Cal. Spell Out. I'm laughing and giggling and waving, which is probably a bad sign, so it barely registers that Brian is asking Peeta about some of those events. Peeta, to his credit, makes them more legendary than they actually were with his amazing gift for words. Which, now that I think about it, seems more impressive when he's tipsy.

Or maybe it seems impressive when _I'm_ tipsy. Because I am. I realize when I slur an excuse to go to the bathroom that I'm weaving on my feet. I haven't had more than normal to drink – two red solo cups at this point – but I guess the purple stuff is more potent than beer. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm subsisting on Cup O' Noodles and water and I'm just more susceptible.

Whatever.

I wait in line with the other ladies and am jealous when a few of them start making out with guys while they wait. Talk about multi-tasking. One in particular seems into her date and it's getting the erotic engine of mine – never far from started – kicking into high gear. I want that. I want a guy's hands on my hips and his lips on mine to make me go all warm and dreamy on the inside in order to avoid my own shitty angst on the outside.

Is that too much to ask?

I finish my business and make my way to Brian. When I rub up against him and purr something in his ear, he laughs, pats me on the ass and whispers back, "later." I might recall that neither of us is particularly into PDAs if I were more sober.

But I'm not sober and I don't want later. I want now.

I go grab more purple stuff, unsteadily pouring from the Gatorade cooler being used as a dispenser. A little sloshes over the edge and I have to take a quick gulp so it's at a reasonable level.

"You ok?" Gale asks. He seems remarkably lucid and it permeates the rainbow vapor fogging my brain.

I think I mumble, "Never better."

He broods for a moment and looks at my drink, "I think you should slow down."

"I think you should go fuck yourself," I say. At least, I think that's what I say. It sounds a lot like " _You're a frog yourself."_

He reaches for my cup and the drink sloshes down the front of my t-shirt and mini skirt. I barely notice, just take another sip. "Seriously, Jo, you've had enough."

I shake my head and turn toward Brian. I'll be happy to stand with him. Frankly, I'll be happy to just lean against something solid so that the world stops spinning. I sashay over to him and drape myself around him, using his shoulders to hold myself up. I lean in and sloppily suck his earlobe, whispering to him that I want to suck him off. He startles, like he's actually interested this time, and I can see him eyeing my boobs through my purple stained and tacky t-shirt. I lick my lips in anticipation as I think about licking him like a grape Popsicle.

So I deflate faster than a guy during a Betty White cameo at a strip club when he says, "Five minutes."

Five minutes. Five-freaking-minutes? I croak it out in disbelief, "Five minutes?" But it sounds like " _fried peanuts?"_ When it gets me no response and he just casually goes back to his conversation with Peeta, I stomp away. I'm sure there's other fun to be had at the party. I sip more of my drink as I weave around the party looking for action, thighs sticking together slightly from the purple residue. It makes me want to take off my panties and throw them at the nearest, cutest guy I see, but I somehow still register that Brian is watching.

I spy Madge over in her corner. I wave at her with a flutter of my fingertips and blow her a kiss. She blows it back and giggles. Finn glances over and I stick out my tongue at him, which has him flipping me off.

I end up in back where the dancing is – hot bodies rubbing and gyrating while a strobe light blinks. It's dark enough, and the music loud enough, that the reverberation pounds through me like an aural vibrator. I want that feeling of being filled with something, so I start to dance, but my drink is too full and more sloshes out and down my front. I do the only thing I can think of to do and gun it so I can have two hands – two, very sticky hands – free.

All the better to grope with. Right?

I throw out the cup and skid back to the dance floor quickly because I hear a jam starting that I love. LOVE. I'm sure that I would find it ironic that they're playing a gay man's anthem at a fraternity party if I really stopped to think about it, but I'm too wrapped up in bouncing on the balls of my feet and screaming the words. _It's fun to stay at the…Y.M.C.A…._ I'm totally doing the dance and shaking my ass and I feel great. GREAT. Especially when I climb up on one of the speakers so more of the room can see my incredible dance skills.

Really, I'm quite talented.

I spy Brue talking to another bunch of guys and wave frantically, almost toppling off my perch. Thank goodness that the graceful motions of my arms help me regain my balance: I'm sure _The Karate Kid_ practicing his Crane kick has nothing on me.

He's frowning at me as he walks over. _Uh oh._

"Jo, how much have you had to drink?" He helps me down off the speaker. I wonder if he'd help me take my sticky underwear off. It's really distracting and I know how much he likes to be helpful…

I hold up some fingers, not even sure if they represent what I've actually imbibed.

"You're drunk." He says. It's less an accusation than a statement of fact.

"Nuh uh." I shake my head. It makes the room spin a little, so I have to change the direction of the head- shake to add counterpoint.

"Yeah. Know how I can tell? You just spelled Y.M.C.A. wrong. Which I'm pretty sure is impossible."

He lets me lean on him and it feels so good to be close: he smells like beer and deodorant and soap, his jeans and t-shirt clinging in all the right places. I want to lick his collarbone and nibble up his jaw.

"Where's your boyfriend?" He scans the room, brows furrowed.

My stomach does a funny little flip – and not in a good way – when I think about how he and Brian had shaken hands earlier tonight. I don't want them to know each other. I don't want him to call Brian my boyfriend.

I wave over to where Peeta and Brian were last sighted in what I hope is an elegant gesture. "Over there." I lean forward and say conspiratorially, "He won't let me blow him."

It comes out as " _He won't get me a doughnut."_

Brue looks at me and squints as if trying to decipher what I've just said. He takes a moment to look me over from the top of my mussed hair, to my stained shirt and jean mini-skirt. "You're a mess, you know that?"

I blink at him. Was that an insult? It doesn't seem to be. I need him to comprehend that I'm _not_ a mess: I'm great. I'm just a little... "I'm just sticky." I make sure to over-enunciate the words so that he can understand.

"Sticky?" He rocks back on his heels and grins.

I have to blink a couple of times at how blinding his grin is and what it does to my insides. I nod slowly, swaying side to side as the room tilts with my head. "Yeah." I don't really even think about what it might look like to anyone else when I grab his hand and put it between my thighs so he can feel for himself.

The feel of his warm palms and long fingers against the stickiness on the inside of my thighs…If I were sober, I would probably freeze. Hell, I would never have grabbed his hand if I were sober. I'm not, though, as evidenced by the fact that I wiggle so that his hand is more firmly wedged between my legs. It's the closest we've ever been and I love the heated, warm feel of him and how his fingers move just a little against my skin. Almost like they're stroking...

He's staring at me and I'm staring at him. The moment is spinning almost as fast as the room. His lips part ever so slightly and I watch, mesmerized, as his tongue touches the cleft in the middle of his generous lower lip. I want to bite him there. I can feel the heat blossom across my cheeks and chest as I watch him and a thousand fantasies flash...

Suddenly, I hear _One Way or Another_ and squeal. "One Direction!" I bounce away from him and jump up on a chair, dancing to Niall and the gang with my eyes closed. I don't even spare a thought to the guy I've left on the floor.

I don't know how I end up next to the karaoke machine a little while later, which is the hugest party foul ever because I can't sing but I'm so drunk that I think I can. I'm scrolling through the music when I hit the one I want and let out a _woohoo_! Yes, that's how drunk I am: I am actually a woohoo girl.

I stride toward the middle of the little makeshift karaoke stage, only stumbling twice in the five foot walk. I wait for the music to start with the microphone held in my hand like it's a dick, mouth hovering above it in anticipation as the music starts.

_This was never the way I planned, not my intention. I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion. It's not what I'm used to. Just. Want to try you on. I'm curious for you, caught my attention…_

I'm just grinding my hips to roll into the chorus when I see Finn grinning at me with his arms crossed. I stutter a little at the expression on his face because I know what that look means: it means that Finn is about to end all of my fun. I cross my eyes at him.

_I kissed a girl and I liked it…._

And just like that, he swoops me up and over his shoulder. I reflexively hand the mic to Katniss, who looks remotely panicked before literally picking up where I left off. Only she doesn't nearly look like she knows what she's doing holding the dick/mic. Figures.

… _The taste of her cherry chapstick. I kissed a girl just to try it, hope my boyfriend don't mind it._

I'm shrieking. "Finn! What. The Fuck! Put me down!"

He's carrying me emphatically toward the stairs and being tipped upside down moving is making me queasy. "Friends don't let friends sing Katy Perry."

"You're letting Katniss!" It almost sounds like Catpiss when I say her name.

He says reasonably, "That's different: she's not tone deaf."

"Fuck you, Finn. I can sing!" I struggle a little bit but I've forgotten how well he knows how to handle me.

'Johanna, hyenas mating sound better than you did. You could have single-handedly ended the party. I was just doing everyone a favor."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, you said that already. If I put you down, are you going to take it easy and sober up?" I can hear him laughing at me and I almost say it again.

From my vantage point upside down I can see that Brian's walking toward us because he's rocking those boat shoes he likes to wear without socks. I idly think about how sexy his ankles are.

"What's going on?" He says.

"Jo's really drunk. I was just going to help her sober up." Finn says and hikes me up on his shoulder. My stomach bottoms out when he does it and I wonder if that hollow, jiggling feeling is supposed to be there.

"I can take care of her." I hear Brian say over the blood that's rushing in my ears every time Finn moves. I don't think I've been upside down for this long in a while and it's making me swallow reflexively. I can still tell what they're saying, though, as I struggle.

Finn has to put his hands on my lower back to stop me from moving around. "No, you can't. You let her get this way in the first place. Did you even notice how drunk she was getting?" Finn's pretty magnificent when he gets angry. His perfectly easy-going persona doesn't slip often, but when it does…I can almost imagine the way his green eyes are flashing fire underneath his dark brows, golden hair caressing his forehead. I say almost imagine because I'm busy fighting the almost constant urge to swallow every time he moves his shoulder.

"No. She's a big girl. Jo can take care of herself." I know Brian means it as a sign of respect. But that's not the way that Finn…

"But you came here with her." There it is. Finn is very insistent that, if a guy brings a girl somewhere, he looks out for her. Call it chivalry, call it old fashioned, call it an almost guaranteed sure-lay at the end of the night….Because sure-lay Finn gets laid every time.

Get it? I crack myself up.

I would laugh if I weren't concentrating so hard on raising my hands to tap on Finn's back incessantly. Because there's something he needs to know. Right. Now.

Finn's warming to his topic, so he ignores my thumps. "So, since you didn't do your job, someone who actually cares about her will."

_Tap tap tap…_

"But I care about her and she's _my_ girlfriend." Brian's pretty pissed.

I just know that's going to set Finn off and I really need to get his attention, so I start clawing his shirt up his back.

"Yeah? Well, I've had my hands between her legs a lot longer than you have so maybe that gives me an edge. Because you should be _paying attention_ to her. She's a wreck. How can you not see it?"

"Finn?" My voice sounds very far away, like my head is a giant drum and my voice just echoes through it. There's a rushing water noise that might be my pulse or the Jungle Juice...

"She's independent."

"Yeah. But the way to lift her up is to be a partner and not take that for granted."

I'm almost glad he's holding me so that he can't deck Brian; he sounds _that_ pissed.

"Finn…" I'm insistent now.

"What?" He's cranky, even with me.

"Put me down." I over enunciate so he can be sure to hear me. He gently props me up against the stairs and I'm grateful to feel the blood rush from my head. Though the lights seem very, very bright suddenly…

"I want to go with him. I'm supposed to love him." Brian doesn't catch it, but Finn does, even though I'm mumbling. He rounds on me with wide eyes. _Supposed to._ Finn gets that I don't. My eyes fill with tears because I'm a failure. I can't even love someone right.

I'm such a fuck up.

So I say the thing I've been meaning to say since I was upside down. The thing I've been holding back for a full two minutes now. I announce it loudly to the room, as if they all deserve to know and I'm the most important person at this party. Because, if I don't announce it and it takes people unaware, I suddenly will be.

"I'm gonna puke." My voice is that of a cool imperial duchess.

Things move in slow motion after that as I concentrate on controlling the gagging. My next lucid thought is _Thank God for Peeta_ when he shows up with a trashcan just in time for me to stick my head inside of it and lose my Cup 'O Noodles.


	13. Appointments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eating disorder/hangover trigger warning...

"Oh my God." I groan and stretch. My body feels like a truck hit it. _Where am I?_ I look around, taking in the full bed with its blue and beige bedclothes, the book case full of science fiction, art, and cookbooks, the desk with pencil drawings hung behind it and struggle to remember….

Oh, yeah. It's Peeta's room. I can't believe he let me sleep on the bed after I was pretty much a puking machine last night. I am thankful beyond words that the room neither smells like puke nor purple Jungle Juice. Just the thought of that smell makes me gag a little.

"You're up." Finn is reading in the corner. I think it's the book Peeta's brothers gave him – the one that talks about giving a woman a great orgasm – and I want to snort at the idea of Finn even needing to read a book like that. Almost. Because I'm pretty sure snorting might actually cause a vacuum that makes my brain implode. Instead, I nod carefully so the tiny shards of glass inside my head don't move much.

"Good. Katniss is downstairs with Peeta. Let's get you to drink another glass of water." Finn pours me a glass of water from a plastic pitcher and holds it out. I realize that the image I have of him doing this same thing throughout the night isn't a dream: Finn really did make me drink water throughout the night last night. Even when I was fighting him. Even when Katniss had to hold my arms at my sides and they had to force the issue. Even when I was puking it up right after drinking it.

I feel so guilty for being this much trouble that I take the glass without protest and down it. Besides, maybe it will get the dead animal taste out of my mouth. What I wouldn't give for some mouthwash….

"There's mouthwash in the bathroom. Peeta cleaned the shower out after…well… after you insisted that we hose you off because you were _sticky_ and you puked there too. So, I'm sure it would be ok if you want to take a shower. Just lock the door so the fraternity hordes don't interrupt."

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and realize I'm not wearing my clothes from last night. Instead, I'm wearing a pair of blue boxers and an 'SC water polo t-shirt, which is decidedly _not_ Peeta's.

There's a quiet knock at the door. When Finn opens it, Brue is standing there with a pile of laundry.

"Jo's clothes are clean. I can't say that the shirt is ever going to be the same, but everything is wearable." Brue hands some stuff to Finn, then looks past him and sees me sitting up. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Ok." I say. My voice is raw. "Thanks for…" I motion to the laundry. What I really mean is "Thanks for everything." I can feel my face getting warm with embarrassment.

He nods, getting my meaning. "You're welcome. I had to do a load of whites anyway, so I just threw your stuff in too. You had Finn and Katniss a little worried for a while there." He pauses for a minute. "I'm going to guess that we're not running today."

I laugh, a quiet, raspy sound that, surprisingly, doesn't make my head explode. "Probably not." I'm fixated by the thought of my laundry and Brue's mingling in an oddly intimate way during the wash cycle.

He smiles and I feel something tighten in my chest. "Ok. Quick sobriety test: fill in the blank…It's fun to stay at the….?"

"Y.M.C.A." I have a vague memory of something from last night and put my hand over my eyes when I say, "Please tell me I didn't really…" I feel heat bloom on my cheeks again when the memory of me pushing Brue's hands between my legs surfaces.

"You kept singing Y.C.M.A. Don't worry though, I won't tell." He winks at me. "I'll let you get dressed."

"Should I just leave your clothes here?" I finger the soft t-shirt again.

"Only the shirt's mine…the boxers are Peet's. Just drop them back here and we'll get it sorted out later. Finn, I'll see you at the pool." He waves and then shuts the door.

I'm glad the boxers are Peeta's because the thought of being naked in a pair of Brue's underwear is too much. But I'm suddenly a little concerned at the thought that my friends changed my clothes. Where was Brian during all of this?

"When did Brian leave?" It's a random thought but suddenly I have to know.

Finn hedges, "Jo…let's talk about this later."

My eyes clash with his: that can't mean good things. "Come on, Finn. When did he leave?"

Finn sighs and I realize last night wasn't kind to him either – he spent it looking after me instead of sleeping. "Jo, you were pretty drunk. After you puked the first time, Peeta and I hustled you up here. You were pretty difficult and insisted…well, you kept insisting that you were sticky. So you started taking off your clothes. Peeta was trying to get you to leave them on while he rounded up towels for the bathroom and I was trying to make sure you didn't puke again…"

I close my eyes, afraid of where this is going.

"…But he walked in right at the point where you were taking your top off. He seemed pretty unhappy when he stormed out."

Fuck.

If my head didn't already feel shattered and put back together, that would be enough to start my pulse pounding: he is never, ever going to forget this. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Maybe I won't have to deal with telling him I don't love him. Maybe I've already taken care of him never speaking to me again.

I pull on my clothes, stopping only for a second to consider Brue folding my white boy shorts with _Jo-Jo_ monogrammed on the butt in lavender letters. I shake it off because this is not, obviously, the first time he's ever touched a pair of girl's panties and I've got to find Katniss to get back to the dorms and strategize.

…because I have no idea how to talk myself out of this one with Brian.

_-o—_

Katniss and Finn walk me back the two blocks back to campus after Peeta tries to foist some warm, Danish pinwheels on us. They smelled so amazing, the buttery flakiness of the puff pastry the perfect foil for the cheese and jam filled centers, that I almost didn't hear Peeta tell me that the boxers were from a new pack so I didn't have to be grossed out about wearing his underwear. Thank God, right? Despite the grumbling of my stomach, I was able to stay strong, thank him for letting me crash in his room, and take my leave. It did not escape my notice that Katniss left holding a paper bag, though.

I feel pretty badly that this is the second time she's slept in Peeta's room and the guy still hasn't scored. Never mind that his frat brothers seem to think he's a legend and had some sort of orgiastic foursome last night. I guess Finn's rep, coupled with my nude antics the night before in the hallway, cemented an idea that there was more going on in his room than me holding on to the floor or trashcan in order to keep myself from falling off the earth.

Whatever. It's good advertising in case I'm ever single again.

Katniss insists that we stop at the Burger King on Jefferson. Normally, this would cheer me up to no end because this Burger King is right next to the firehouse and Sundays are when the super-hot Los Angeles firefighters wash the trucks. Shirtless, a lot of the time, I might add. If there is anything hotter than a shirtless firefighter, I don't know what it is. The sight is so amazing that Burger King should sell tickets. I'm surprised they haven't had that idea, considering this Burger King actually makes you use quarters to get into the bathrooms.

Finn and I plop into plastic seats on the patio where we can see the front-row action and Katniss goes inside to get snacks. I'm not really sure what she needs Burger King for when I can see the butter oozing like pastry pre-cum through the paper bag that she's brought with her from the frat house. We wait for her patiently. Finn looks thoughtful while I just take in the luscious sights of L.A.'s finest scrubbing those dirty, dirty trucks. _Get those nooks and crannies wet, boys…_

And that's not a euphemism.

Katniss comes back with a fistful of trans fats – hash brown nuggets, Cinnabon Minibons, French toast sticks – all the things that would make my mouth water if I were hungry. Which I'm not. Really. No matter how much my fingers twitch for that deep fried goodness, I'm not allowing myself that sort of self-pleasure.

Katniss doesn't seem to care much for my deprivation as she plops the bag of goods on the table and slides them right in front of me. When I don't take her up on it, she pops the top on the pancake syrup, then sits back and watches me for a second when I still don't take a bite.

"Jo, what are you doing?" She sighs heavily. I can see the dark circles under her eyes.

I cross my arms in front of me. "Nothing. I'm not hungry – must still be nauseous from last night."

Finn snorts. "Come on, Jo. I've seen you put away an entire pizza after a night like that. Katniss is right: what's going on?"

"Nothing."

Katniss addresses Finn, "She's running miles and miles too. Is that normal when she's stressed out?"

Finn frowns, "Like how many?"

Katniss shrugs so Finn turns at me, "How many, Jo?"

I stare at a sweaty firefighter, knowing that Finn is going to wig out a little. "I don't know. Twenty? Maybe twenty five?"

 _"A day?"_ He grabs a hash brown and munches on it. "Do you remember Julie from the squad?"

I look at him, knowing where he's going with this. Julie spent an entire season rationing her food and working out before her parents pulled her off to get her healthy. But I'm not like that and I say so. He glares at me.

Katniss fidgets and plays with a Swiss Army knife while she listens to Finn try to talk some sense into me. "Jo, Finn's right."

"Oh, fuck, Everdeen. Not you too. I'm fine. Fine! Do I look like I'm wasting away?" I need this like I need a hole in the head.

"I could ask you the same question about me. Do I?" Her eyes meet mine directly while her hands keep closing and unclosing the knife. "Would you say I'm fine? Because I'm not. And neither are you."

"Fuck you both." I'm breathing hard so I stand up, ready to run…anywhere…despite the pounding in my head. Finn puts his hand on my arm, but it's Katniss who stops me in my tracks.

"No, Jo. _Fuck you._ " She slams the Swiss army knife into the plastic table so that it stands, quivering, on its end. I don't think I've ever seen her this pissed. "You're going to sit there and listen to this. I fucking sang _Katy Perry_ in front of total strangers and spent the night in Peeta's room, sober, for you. So you're going to fucking sit down and have a hash brown and listen to me, so help me God."

She's shaking, that's how hard her fists are clenched.

Fuuuuckkk….. Go Everdeen. I sit my ass back in the chair. "Fine. But I'm not eating."

She smirks. "We'll see about that."

I'm expecting her to go off on how I'm not taking care of myself. How my friends care about me. How my hair will fall out and my teeth will go bad if I end up with an eating disorder. But she doesn't go there.

She sits there staring at me for a full thirty seconds, as if weighing if I can be trusted. Finally, she opens her mouth and tells me a story. "When I was a kid, my dad died. You know that part. And my Mother sort of checked out. Things were left up to me to manage: getting Prim and I to school, laundry, homework, buying groceries….all of it. We didn't have a lot of money, so I rationed what we bought: some for me, more for Prim. She was still growing and I thought she needed it more. I resented my mom for putting me in that position, but the truth is that I liked feeling in control of something after he died.

"So I really watched what I ate, telling myself that I needed to have everything handled. That, no matter what my Mom was going through, I had to handle everything for everyone and that meant putting them first. Depriving myself became a way for me to prove that I had it all handled.

"I always had an excuse to maintain tight control: money, Prim, the fact that I had a reputation as a tight-ass, goody-two-shoes who never partied. Not when I was in high school, even when my mom snapped out of it, and not here. Not until I started seeing someone."

"So it wasn't Peeta who got you to eat with total abandon?" I frown.

She blushes and laughs. "No. Well, yes. Sort of. Dr. Aurelius and I are working on making me comfortable with being significant to myself. With letting go and having fun. With losing control. I talk about you a lot, and he thinks you're a good influence in that regard: you help me to be spontaneous and relax my insane expectations for myself."

I snort. "Yeah. That's my super power, alright."

"Stop it." Finn says in a clipped tone of voice. "I'm not going to put up with you making derogatory comments about yourself. We've been through too freaking much together for me to put up with you talking shit about yourself."

Seriously? Who made my friends so kick ass?

"Well, Finn, since we're over-sharing here, what's the big flaw you're working through?" I say it sarcastically, still processing that Everdeen has been hiding control issues of her own. What other things have I missed about my friends?

"Me?" He scoffs, then looks down the street with a serious and thoughtful expression on his face. "I just want to be loved."

I snort. _Loved?_ Like Finn Odair has ever had a problem in that area.

"So, you see? I know how it starts and I've spent the last four months in therapy trying to be more like you. You can't up and try to be like me! I won't let you do that. After all, it is all about me." She gives a tiny grin to let me know she's kidding and holds out her hand. "Give me your phone, Jo. I'm going to program my doctor's number into your phone and tomorrow, you're going to make an appointment. I'll go with you."

"So will I." Finn cuts in as he munches on a French toast stick.

I hand her my phone, afraid she'll stab me through the heart with a spork otherwise. She fumbles with it for a minute – I have to give her my screen password (which is _fuck, of course_ ) and then frowns.

"You already have his name and number in here." She's looking at me expectantly.

I have no idea what she's talking about until I take the phone back and glance at the contact: it rings a bell. And that's when I realize that Katniss's therapist, the one who is helping her become significant to herself, is also Peeta's.

And that is the exact moment when I decide to give therapy a try: because if two of my closest friends can trust this guy, why can't I?

-o-

Katniss stands by while I call to make an appointment. Luckily, the week of Thanksgiving is a quiet week at the Student Health Center and I make an appointment for that afternoon. I shake my head when she asks if I want her to come with: I don't want to feel like she doesn't trust me to walk half a block. It's weird enough that she looks like she wants to hug me before my meeting. Luckily, though, she sneezes before she can follow through on the urge.

Thank God.

So I go. And the guy's not at all what I expect: there's no pipe, there's no tweed jacket. He looks like a totally normal L.A. guy in a white button down and ratty jeans, but he has these intense eyes… Actually, if I squint, he sort of looks like Jeremy Renner.

I assure you, picturing him dressed as Hawkeye is only mildly distracting.

He asks me what I want to get out of our time together and what comes out of my mouth surprises even me, "I want to stop feeling so bad about myself all the time."

He cocks an eyebrow at me but remains silent.

"I just…I have nightmares. And I can't live up to being who everyone thinks I am. What if I fail? What if I can't handle all of this?" I wave my hand around. "I just want to feel ok."

He "Tell me about something you do that makes you feel the way you want to feel."

I tell him about running and about how the only thing that can shut my mind off is exhaustion. I give him examples of the frat parties, shopping with Katniss and Madge, laughing with Finn, cheerleading. I even mention sex, as weird as that might be during our first appointment. All of those things let me be myself, though, without any pressure to pretend to be perfect.

When he asks about things that make me feel the opposite, I spill it: I explain how big a fraud I feel lately, like I can't do anything right and it's all going to catch up with me. Like there's two people I want to be – the "real me" and then "me" everyone else expects. I tell him about school and my parents and my major. I even tell him about Brian and the pressure of loving someone I've only known a few months. By the time I'm done talking, my heart is pounding, I feel like I've run ten miles and I'm gasping for breath.

I leave out the part about my sister, not ready to go there quite yet.

"And you're going home for Thanksgiving?" He's writing something down on a legal pad.

I lean over and try to see what it says while I nod.

"Johanna, I want you to try something for me while you're away in preparation for our next session." He pauses, then stops to ask, "There is going to be a next session, yes?"

I laugh and answer truthfully, "If only because you're sort of hot."

He blinks at me, then carries on as if I said nothing, "I'm going to give you a small book. I'd like you to keep a journal of all the times you did something or said something that wasn't the _real_ you and why you did it instead of what the _real_ you would do. For example, if you tell Brian that you love him, write it down with a brief description of what held you back from being _real_ in that moment."

"That's it?" I take the small book he hands me and look at it doubtfully.

"I'd like you to keep running. There is research to suggest that it can help combat anxiety and depression, so I do think it's doing some good. However, I think you should also start a food log. If you are running that much, we need to make sure you stay healthy."

"That seems like a lot of writing."

"It can be. But it will help us decide if we bring in a psychiatrist to consult for drug therapy or if we stick with psychology to help you. Do you think you can keep up with it?"

"Sure. It will be easier when I'm home."

"Good. The goal here is going to be to become more of your real self. Try to keep that in mind too."

"What if I don't know who that is yet?" I'm doubtful because I've usually got everything all figured out and I hate this feeling of not knowing if I'm doing the right things.

He clears his throat. "You're eighteen years old, Johanna. We'll have to figure out why you expect yourself to have all of the answers when you're still learning so much."

"Okay." I grip the little book like it holds the key to the world's mysteries as I leave his office. I feel lighter, more in control: I have a plan now. There's work to be done. I can break it into parts and solve this problem one bit at a time.

As I spy Katniss and Finn pretending to study as they wait for me on the grass, I also realize that I feel something else.

I'm hungry.


	14. Thanksgiving: A Katniss and Peeta Outtake

Katniss's phone rings, waking her out of a very sound sleep. Her first thought is that she hasn't felt this bad in…well…in forever. Her throat is raw, her nose is stuffed and the worst part is that she's sure she's got a fever. No, the worst part is that she can actually hear her mother telling her "I told you so" for not taking her vitamins.

Her mom is a freak about vitamins.

"Hello?" Her throat feels like sandpaper and hurts like it's peppered with shards of glass. The effort of finding her phone is almost too much, and she leans back against her pillows, snuggling down as far as she can into the dark green nest.

"Catnip? No wonder Johanna called Madge and warned her that you weren't feeling well. Jesus. You sound like shit. "

"Mmm." Katniss tries to make as little air flow over her vocal cords as possible, which results in a cough. Coughing makes her throat feel like it's being eaten away by acid.

"I'm coming over." Gale has _that_ tone: the one Katniss knows demonstrates how stubborn he can be.

"No. I'll just get you sick. And what about Madge?" She punctuates her words with a sneeze and a sniffle. If there's one thing she knows about Gale it's how much he hates being sick. And this chance to pick Madge's dad's brain about politics over dinner is once in a lifetime. Or she thinks it will be, if Gale cancels on them.

"Madge will understand."

"No. I'm fine." Katniss says it emphatically, and it just makes her cough again. She wishes she could convey to him, without hacking up a lung, that Madge would just feel jilted if he spent the day taking care of her instead. She leans her sweaty head back against her pillows. She's so tired and cold, and she just wants to rest for a minute.

"You need someone to take care of you." She hears Gale put the phone onto his chest, like he's having a conversation with someone else. She closes her eyes and is actually drifting off to sleep when he comes back. "Catnip? Peeta's going to come by later. He's making dinner here, so he'll bring you something to eat. Ok?" This would normally alarm Katniss, who likes to lick her wounds privately and only ever lets Prim act as a nurse. The very last thing she needs is someone hovering over her. But her bed is so comfortable and Gale's voice is droning on about what Peeta's making for dinner at the frat house…

She's not even sure if she makes a sound in response, because the next thing she knows, there's a knock on the door. It barely registers that it's Peeta, standing with some groceries and a messenger bag filled to the brim. She waves at him – talking is too hard – and climbs back into bed. She silently thanks him for not asking the obvious question about how she feels.

Peeta frowns as he takes in her Hannah Montana pajamas and striped socks. "I brought you some cough medicine and some flu stuff; I wasn't sure what you needed. Will you take something?" He unpacks a bag of what looks like various cold and flu remedy on the planet: tissues, pills, cough syrup, and cough drops all end up on her desk.

Katniss nods, afraid that talking will cause a coughing attack, or, worse, make her puke. She knows that Peeta is used to pukers. Heck, he's even puked in front him herself! And he has taught her that a little bit of powdered laundry detergent in the bottom of the trashcan can stop the entire room from smelling like puke. But she doesn't want him to see her that way again; not now that they're friends.

She eyes the stuff on the desk again and can't believe that he's gone through all of this trouble. Of course, that's Peeta's modus operandi: taking care of damsels in distress. Maybe he's branching out from drunk girls to sick ones.

"Here, take this. I brought some soup too. 'Figured you haven't eaten anything in a while." He hands her a pill and some water, which she dutifully takes as he pulls the top off a thermos. The steam rising from it scents the air with turkey and rosemary so strongly that she can actually smell it: she's pretty sure that it would taste good if she could even muster the energy to taste it. He finds a mug and pours some of the rich broth into it. "Sip this."

Katniss surprises him by cupping her hands around it and sipping it gently, without any argument. The steam alone makes her feel better and she stares into the cup with interest. It's a cloudy broth, almost thick enough to be miso. She looks up to find Peeta watching her.

"It's turkey broth. I used the leftovers from today's dinner. Go ahead and drink up, then rest a bit." Peeta feels her forehead, his hand cool against her skin. She swears she feels him brush her hair back and it almost makes her feel badly that she looks a mess. He really is so nice. Why has she never noticed how wonderful it feels to be taken care of? She owes him so much and here she is again, taking advantage of him.

"Thank you for coming." She pushes the words past her swollen throat, then rolls to face the wall and promptly falls asleep.

-o—

"Prim!" Katniss jolts awake and cries out, panicked. Her throat is on fire, her skin prickles with cold and hot needles. She shivers.

Peeta rushes to the bed. "Shh, Katniss, it's ok. It's just a dream. Prim's ok." He feels her forehead with his cool, capable hands. "You're really warm. I think it's time for more medicine."

Katniss coughs as he gets her some water and coaxes her to sit up. "It was so real. Something horrible had happened to her and I couldn't get to her in time. Peeta, I'm so far way. What if I couldn't get there in time? And it's Thanksgiving and I didn't even call…" She's crying, but she takes the medicine when he holds it out to her. A shiver racks through her as she drinks the water, even though it's not cold, and her hand shakes.

Peeta has to reach out and take the cup from her so she doesn't spill. "Katniss, it was just a dream. She's fine. If you want, we can Skype her tomorrow and wish her a Happy Thanksgiving then. Just…just relax and try to go to sleep. We need your fever to break."

Katniss surprises him by locking onto his blue eyes. "You'll stay?" Her eyes are still damp and full of emotion and her teeth are chattering. Peeta can't look away.

"Of course." He hears himself say. After all, she needs him. How is he supposed to turn away? He kicks off his shoes, shuts off the light and gets ready to lie down on the floor when Katniss stops him with a mewling noise that sounds like his name.

"Katniss?" He sits up and reaches for where he thinks her forehead is but she grabs his hands instead and tugs him onto the bed.

"I'm…so….cooollld." She tugs until he's lying on top of her covers and she can press herself up against his warmth.

-o—

Peeta wakes to find sunlight streaming through the window and Katniss is cool to the touch. He knows it's early – he's never been one for sleeping late – so he sneaks out to use the restroom, then boots up his computer and puts on a movie. When that's done and Katniss is still not awake, he sits on Johanna's rumpled bed and sketches her.

"What are you drawing?" Her throat is raw but her limbs ache less than the day before. She can feel the dried sweat coating her body and it makes her scowl.

Peeta reaches a stopping point and closes his sketchbook. "Nothing. Just doodling to pass the time. Feeling better?"

"Yeah, loads. I'm sorry I kept you here last night." She shoves herself up to a sitting position, then has to brace herself because she's lightheaded.

"Easy… you're still probably pretty weak. Do you guys have an electric kettle? I can make you some tea."

"No. We just…um…we heat mugs of water in the microwave." Katniss says.

Peeta grimaces like he disapproves, but crosses to the microwave and pops a cup of water into it. While it's heating, he takes a container from the refrigerator and opens it. "While that's heating, feel like trying to eat a little something?"

"More broth?" Katniss stomach grumbles. It's not that she's ungrateful, she was just hoping for something more substantial. She closes her eyes and imagines Peeta's chocolate cake sliding past her lips.

Peeta stirs something in the container, then puts some in a plastic cup. "Try this. If it agrees with you, we can try more in a little bit."

Katniss takes the cup of what looks to be vanilla pudding and sniffs it. "What is it?" She takes a tentative lick of the spoon and the velvety rich egg custard flavor bursts on her tongue with a cinnamon afterburn that banishes the horrible taste in her mouth. Immediately, her throat feels better.

"It's Natilla – a Cuban custard. My grandpa Mellark used to make it for me when I was…under the weather…as a kid. It should help give you some energy and the eggs are a good source of protein." He watches her eat greedily for a minute, then adds wryly, "I thought I might have to lure you to eat today."

Katniss shakes her head as she continues to eat. "I'm starving and it's perfect. You should have some."

Peeta shakes his head and turns away to fiddle with the teabag steeping in the mug. "No, thanks. I don't eat it anymore."

"You made this for me?" Katniss stops with the spoon halfway to her mouth and puts it back in the mostly empty cup. "Peeta…"

"Katniss, it's ok. I knew you were sick and I wanted to help." He crosses to her, takes the cup and replaces it with the mug of unsweetened tea.

She stares at her hands sightlessly. "You're always helping me. I'm going to owe you forever at this rate."

Her frown hurts his heart. "No, Katniss. You don't owe me anything. Now, drink up." The last sentence is said gently as he nods toward the mug.

She stares at the mug sightlessly. "If you hadn't given me that money and I had gotten caught, they would have taken Prim and I to a home."

"You don't know that."

She nods. "Yes. I was desperate. How was I going to make it out of a grocery store with milk and turkey and bread? Prim and I were hungry and we didn't have any money. I don't know what I was thinking: maybe I could sneak out with someone like I was with their family? Instead of getting caught by the store and arrested or worse." She meets his blue eyes with her gray ones. "I didn't have to figure it out, though. You pretended that I had dropped the money you gave me. What was it?"

Peeta clears his throat and says quietly, "It was my allowance."

Katniss nods. "And I took it. I took your allowance and used it to buy stuff for us to eat. It was the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me, before today." Her eyes cling to his for a moment before she sighs and drains the cup of tea. "I'm full. Thank you. Thank you for everything, Peeta."

Peeta colors a dull red. "You're welcome."

His phone buzzes and he walks to it, glancing at the incoming text. He blushes more profusely. "Katniss, why does your roommate need to know what size boxers I wear?"

"What?" Katniss gapes. That seems a little strange even for Jo to ask.

"Johanna is asking me what size underwear I wear. It seems like an odd question." He texts profusely.

"What are you texting her?" Katniss pads over to where he stands and tries to look at his screen when her phone starts to buzz. She wanders over to it while she watches Peeta.

"Just wishing her a happy Thanksgiving," Peeta says.

Katniss looks at her phone. " _He's there, isn't he?"_ It says. Katniss smirks and types back, " _Maybe_."

Almost immediately, Peeta's phone buzzes and he smiles and types something.

"What's she saying?" Katniss waits patiently. She knows that Johanna won't be able to resist responding and she's not disappointed. " _Please tell me you aren't sick and just used this as an excuse to fuck his brains out."_ Katniss writes back, " _I'll never tell._ "

Peeta's phone buzzes again and it has him smiling at Katniss in a way that makes her stomach flutter. She might actually enjoy that look if she didn't feel like a used up dish rag.

" _How big is he? Because those boxers were roomy."_ The next text reads.

Katniss glances at Peeta and then drops her eyes to his hips. It's sort of fun watching his eyes get wide as he realizes where she's looking. Katniss writes back, " _I'll bet he's a large. How's your weekend?"_

" _Don't change the subject. There're condoms in my top dresser drawer."_ The response reads and then continues, " _I'll tell you about my weekend when I get back - you're not missing much."_

There's a pause and then Katniss gets another text that makes her laugh out loud. " _You are just fucking with me, right? The two of you are not boning in our room right now?"_

Katniss does the one thing she knows will drive Johanna Mason insane: she shuts her phone off.

Peeta stands watching Katniss's secret smile with a smile of his own. "Care to share whatever that was about?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Nope." She smooths a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you think…well…do you think I could go take a shower? And maybe you could stay?" She's suddenly feeling forward, her conversation with Jo giving her confidence that she doesn't normally have. Never mind the fact that she probably smells, she wants Peeta Mellark to herself for a little while longer.

He stares, totally taken aback, like her request is completely unexpected. "Um. Sure. I'll just. Wait here?" His voice breaks a little at the end of the sentence.

She nods.

-o—

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Peeta motions to his laptop, "I have Netflix."

Katniss is more tired than she wants to admit, but at least she felt clean in new sweats and with new sheets on the bed. Peeta had even opened the window while she showered to air out her room.

"Sure." She isn't sure if she is going to be able to keep her eyes open, but he doesn't need to know that. She's worried about more nightmares, so she adds, "Nothing scary."

"Then Twilight is off the list of possibilities." Peeta scrolls down the list of movies.

"Because it's scary?"

Peeta glances her way. "Have you seen Kristin Stewart's acting?"

They eventually land on _Journey to the Center of the Earth_ and move to Katniss's bed; they have to sit side by side to see the laptop screen and neither one of them wants to get too close. Katniss's eyes start to droop though, and Peeta sees it. He drapes an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in so that her head rests of his shoulder.

"You should rest." He ghosts a hand up to her forehead to make sure she's still cool.

Katniss's eyes are already closed but she makes a sound of protest. "I don't want you to go." She doesn't want to explain to him that she likes having him with her and that she can get used to being important to him. She hasn't felt this safe or cared for since Prim.

He continues to stroke her hair until he knows she's well and truly asleep, then whispers. "I won't. You can always count on me."

-o—

"Stop! Stop! You guys, that tickles!" Katniss laughs as Peeta and Finnick each draw on a hip bone. She's not sure who started it, but each of the guys has a pen and is drawing on her jeans. Finn's looks like a fish. Peeta's looks like some sort of flower. Katniss is sure that he would add a lot more detail if only she would stop giggling.

"Finn, can you please hold her down?" Peeta grimaces at her as she wriggles.

A shadow crosses the door. "What in the fuck is going on here?"

"Jo!" Katniss laughs again. "The guys are decorating my pants. I'm so glad you're back."

Johanna crosses the threshold with her weekend rollie bag. "The _guys_ are decorating your pants? Really? That's what we're calling it now? Because I don't see a fucking Bedazzler. And Finn…what the hell were you thinking, sending Brue to get me at the train station? Actually, let me take that back. What were you thinking, fucking leaving me in Orange County in the first place?"

Finn stands up and gives her a hug, despite the fact that she keeps trying to push him off. "I'm sorry, Jo. I had to work. What took you so long getting….Wait a second. Didn't your train come in _two hours ago?_ " Finn cocks in her direction. "What did you do to Brue? I don't see any blood on you, so you obviously didn't kill him. Are you still wearing panties?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jo shoots him a dirty look.

Finn gives her the Finn Odair smile, fully equipped to melt even those most hardened of hearts. "Well, Jo, you have a way of putting things into two categories: kill it or fuck it."

"Keep it up, Finn. Because you're certainly not in the second…"

"Three." Peeta mumbles around the pen cap in his mouth, interrupting their bickering.

"What, brainless?" Jo swivels her head toward the noise and narrows her eyes. After her dinner with Brue, this conversation is not amusing because she wishes she had killed him, or at least maimed him.

Peeta takes the cap out of his mouth and ticks them off on his fingers. "You have three categories. Kill it, fuck it, friend it."

Katniss chimes in, "And we're all just happy to be in your friend zone, Jo. Now sit down and tell us about your Thanksgiving."

Jo gives a huge sigh and pauses just before sitting on her bed. Her eyes shoot to Katniss and Peeta. "I'm not going to sit in a dried wet spot, am I, you two?"


	15. Jo Goes Home

"You are not going to make me listen to One Direction again, are you?" Finn glances at me like he's daring me to touch his iPhone again.

"But I love them." I loosen my seat belt and prop my bare feet up on his dash. I can't wait to go home and eat In –N- Out Burgers and my favorite greasy taco stand Mexican food with my brothers. We're going to play games all weekend and I'll listen to music with my dad; we can finally settle the debate over the Who versus Van Halen once and for all. I'm a little bummed that Katniss is going to miss out on all of the fun with my family, because I am determined that it's going to be an awesome weekend where I can kick back and forget about all of the recent developments on campus.

"Not all of us feel the same way you do about Niall Horan." Finn's voice doesn't sound like Finn and it makes me raise an eyebrow in his direction. He moves on to another song and it takes a second for Ryan Cabrera's _True_ to start playing.

I consider him for a moment because the Finn Odair I know is less a Ryan Cabrera guy and more of a Fall Out Boy sort. "Finn, what's up? Are you on the rag or constipated or something? Because we need to stop at the Target in Mission Viejo anyway so I can change into something _more appropriate_. Maybe we can get you some man-pons."

He laughs wryly and nods at my 'SC tank top and jeans. "Yeah, you need to hide your true colors from Barb or she'll punish you with another makeover. Although Black Friday is coming, so you may have to do that anyway."

I snort. Finn and I refer to my mom (step-mom, really) by her first name when we're alone in sort of a mini-rebellion. "Yeah, probably. I'll have to suffer through another bout of shopping. Probably for lingerie no doubt." When Finn doesn't respond with a snide comment, I frown. "What's up, Finn? I know that you think Barb's a MILF, so you're not even going to say anything when I mention her and lingerie in the same sentence?"

He thinks for a moment, carefully maneuvering through holiday traffic on the way to Dana Point. "Remember the question you asked me?"

I think for a second. "How do you keep your chest stubble from itching?"

Finn shakes his head. "No. Be serious for a minute, Jo. Remember when you asked if I had ever told someone that I loved them?"

I gape. "You said you've never said it."

"Yeah. I guess my question is, when you think you do, how do you bring it up? How do you say it?"

I pat his hand on the gear shift. "Odair, I know we've been friends for a long time. And I'm flattered, really…."

He bursts out laughing. "Come on, Jo. I'm being serious," he says when he recovers.

I turn almost completely around in my seat so I'm facing him. "Finn, fucking spill it: start at the beginning."

So Finn tells me about this girl in his physiology class who just happens to live in my dorm. They study together. Her name is Andrea, but she lets Finn call her Annie. She's evidently very quiet because she's been shuttled between boarding schools most of her life. When Finn describes her, I get a brief flash of a memory of the night he read Fifty Shades– Finn's reaction to a girl standing in the hallway. She's beautiful (of course) and thoughtful and sweet. Two of those things are not characteristics that I normally think are requirements for Finn.

At least this explains his weird, late night visits to my dorm.

The heartbreaking part of the story begins when Finn says that she won't date him. She thinks he's too much of a player and has said that he's just not her type.

"No offense, Finn, but you _are_ a player." I say. I don't want to be brutal or anything. I'm a firm believer, though, that if the girl is saying no then the answer is no. Finn doesn't need to turn into a stalker and there are a lot of girl fish in the proverbial sea.

He shakes his head adamantly. "I may be now. But, if she said yes, I would give all of that up."

I stare at him in silence for a minute. On the one hand, I've heard that plenty of times. On the other hand, I've never, ever heard it from Finnick Odair. And the look on his face… I think he's serious.

Fuck.

I respond honestly, still trying to process what he's saying. "Finn…I don't know what to say."

"Tell me how to win her over." His eyes are pleading.

"Well, whatever you do, don't tell her you love for the first time while you're having sex." We laugh together and he shoots me a sidelong glance.

"We're not having sex," he says quietly.

"What?" I couldn't be more taken aback than if he had told me he was growing a pair of wings. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

"We talked and she wants to wait until there's a commitment. But she won't agree to go out with me, so how am I supposed to show her that she should take a chance?"

I say the thing that's on the top of my mind. I'm pretty sure he won't like it, but it needs to be put out there. "Finn, are you sure you're not doing this to get in her pants because she keeps saying no?"

"Jo, I know what you're thinking, and that makes total sense. But I'm telling you…I'm telling you that it's not like that. I could really love this girl. Like the kind of love that ends up in a Nicholas Sparks movie."

I almost smack him at the reference: Finn _knows_ they are a guilty pleasure of mine: I watched _Dear John_ on repeat for almost an entire month. I get it, though. I get it.

I puzzle over it for the rest of the drive: how do we get her to give Finn a chance?

-o—

"Remember, Finn. Anything goes wrong with your dad and you can come over here tomorrow." I tell him as we sit in the car outside my house. Finn's dad is less than reliable when it comes to holidays. Hell, when it comes to most things. Finn's never sure if he's going to end up spending the holidays alone because of some film shooting schedule. The thing that truly boggles the mind, though, is that Finn never knows ahead of time. It's like his dad wakes up and just suddenly recalls that he has a son in some sort of alternate universe.

Finn smiles the practiced Odair smile and nods. "Think Barb's going to mind if I show her my new tattoo?"

I stop tying my shoelaces and stare at him. "What tattoo?"

His grin widens. "The one I'm getting later today. Want to tag along?"

Finn knows I'm not into tattoos on myself because I don't think I have the right body type for them. What I want, though, is a belly button stud and he knows it. He also knows that my mom and dad are never, ever going to let me get one.

Dick.

"You know that I wish I could but Mom and Dad would freak. What are you getting? And where?"

"It's a surprise." He smiles at me and winks, then considers my outfit. "Looking good, Mason. Love the dark green scarf. Did you borrow that from Katniss?"

I finger the scarf that my mom got me for Christmas last year. "You don't think it's too much?"

"For Barb? No way. You look just the right amount of L.L. Bean for her to leave you alone." He passes me his ICEE but I turn it down. All I need now is to spill electric blue sludge on my white shirt because that shit doesn't come off. "It's really no fair: you get a tattoo and I get a shopping spree."

Finn's smile fades. "At least you have a family."

I should be grateful, he's right. Finn spends a lot of time, alone, in a big house.

"Come over later." I grab his hand.

"Nah. I'll be ok. I'll text you tomorrow."

-o—

Finn's dad bails on him again, so he comes over to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. I can't wait to see his tattoo. The boys won't leave Finn alone, and my parents make it worse - they won't stop grilling us about school and boyfriends and girlfriends and classes. It's like they expect us to narc on ourselves. Finally, dinner is cleared and we get some time to go upstairs and play Xbox with the boys.

I sneak Finn into my room under the guise of playing him a new song that I love and demand, "Show me."

He smirks at me and very slowly raises his shirt while making striptease noises to reveal a trident that takes up almost the whole left side of his ribs. It's intricate and looks expensive and painful as hell.

"Oh my God, Finn. That's huge." I breathe. I move closer to take a look at the black edges which still look red because they're so fresh. "I don't think I've seen one this big up close."

"I know. It's impressive, isn't it? I think it's going to look even better when it's not so red."

A throat clears behind me. "What is going on in here?"

 _Of course._ My mom has impeccable timing. Finn struggles to pull his shirt down before she can see but it doesn't work.

"Finnick Odair, is that a tattoo?" My Mom crosses over to him and tugs on this shirt like he's a three year old so that she can see. Finn's face goes up in flames: I'm pretty sure he's thought of my mom taking his shirt off, but it was never quite like this in his fantasies.

"Yes Mrs. Mason." He holds still with his eyes shut.

"Well. Um. That's quite impressive." She pulls his shirt down, affected like all women are by Finn's chest. Her "mother" tone is back, though, when she asks, "Does your father know about this?"

"Mom, he just had it done." I break in. The grilling she's giving him is totally unnecessary. What Finn chooses to do with his body is his own decision.

"No, he doesn't." Finn looks at the floor.

"Don't you think he would be interested?" Her tone full of disapproval.

I can't believe she's going to guilt trip him on Thanksgiving when his father couldn't be bothered to show up. "Mom, this is the same guy who didn't even come home to spend a planned Thanksgiving with his son. Do you really think Finn's tattoo is going to interest him at all?"

"Don't disrespect Finn's father that way, Johanna. We don't know what kept him. I think he should know about this."

"Why? Finn's old enough to make the decision to do this and he paid for it out of his own pocket. Why does his dad need to know?"

"Jo…" Finn looks from me to my mom, clearly trying to break in.

"No, Finn. It's not right." I glare at my mom.

"Johanna, someday you'll understand what it's like to be a parent..."

"Oh, please. When I am a parent someday, I'll be there for my kid. Not traipsing all over the globe making money and forgetting I even have one. Do you think Finn's dad is going to lecture him via Skype, Mom? I'm sure a timeout from half a globe away is going to scare him…"

She assesses me quietly. "I don't know what's gotten into you. I came to tell you that we're leaving for the outlets at midnight." She shakes her head, "I'm going back downstairs to enjoy a slice of pie and we will continue this conversation later. Finn, I'll send your dad an email later tonight."

I snort at the closed door and turn back to Finn, who is looking at me strangely. "She's such a bitch."

"Jo, what's gotten into you? You would have never, ever disagreed with Barb to her face." He crosses his arms across his chest.

I shrug. "I just think it's time I told her how wrong she is."

He smirks. "She's not wrong: my dad is gonna be pissed. It's part of the reason I did it."

"So you _want_ him to find out?" I'm shocked.

"Of course. That's like the icing on the cake. He finds out, but I'm too far away for him to do anything about it. It evens us up for every holiday he skipped." Finn smiles his devilishly boyish smile at me.

"You are a conniving son of a bitch, Finn Odair." I smile back at him.

-o—

"Johanna, do you want to tell me what is going on?" It's three a.m. and my mom and I have stopped for a Starbucks at the outlet mall to restore our energy. It's probably the one time a year I allow myself to drink coffee – a mocha with an extra shot of espresso, to be precise. It's the only way I can keep up with my mom, who is tireless when it comes to shopping and as organized about it as a Marine Drill Sargeant. These shopping trips used to be fun when I was fifteen and sixteen and wanted some mother/daughter bonding time. Now, they're just exhausting. Who wants to shop for twelve hours?

"What?" I'm not even sure what Barb is talking about: my feet hurt, my eyes can barely focus. Whomever it was who says that nothing good happens after three a.m. is dead on right.

"Your swearing, your attitude, your running before it's light out, your drinking…What is going on? Are you on drugs or something?"

I splutter a little through my mocha whipped cream. "My what?" Out of everything she's listed, it's her knowing about my drinking that causes my mental stumble.

"We know about your drinking. We saw a video of you at a party that someone posted to Facebook recently. It looked like a real rager. Really, Johanna? As if your father doesn't have enough pressure, we have to see Finnick carrying you over his shoulder and then you talking about puking. You looked like hell and you could barely stand. We could see your underwear, for God's sake! I'm sure your father was mortified. We're worried that his detractors in the school district will see it and it will cause problems. So I'll ask you again…What is going on?"

She's on fire, absolutely furious. I would be amazed at her utter luminescence if it weren't directed at _me_ because a pissed off Barb is not a good thing.

"Nothing." I scramble for something to tell her. Somehow I don't think I want to confess to the running, the food thing (whatever it is), Brian, the frat parties, and the fact that I'm seeing a therapist. I know that will just be the icing on the cake and I'll be lucky to be allowed to go back to school.

"Is it that roommate of yours?" Barb drums her perfectly manicured nails on her venti, half-caf Americano.

"Katniss?" I almost choke. Intimating that Katniss is a bad influence is like being afraid of Bambi. "No. No, it's not Katniss."

"Then it's Finnick, isn't it? He's into drugs or something and he's dragging you down with him? Are you dating him?"

" _Finn?_ Oh God. No! Finn's like a brother." The thought actually makes me want to gag a little bit. Finn's too important to me to fuck.

"Help me to understand. We thought that, after making it through the horrible time we all had when Carys died as a family and becoming closer because of it, that we would skip all of this… this teenager angst."

As much as it stings, to think that my mom and dad discussed me and how I was handling Carys's loss because I thought no one could see how hard it was for me, it's harder to watch the video she seems to have bookmarked on her phone's browser: it's on a friend of a friend's page, I'm tagged by name, and it's all captured in about five minutes of video: me singing like a bleating goat, me being carried, the fight with Finn and Brian, and my announcement of impending puke-age. I look like I'm coated in purple Popsicle and not in a good way.

"You're not supposed to think anything of it. My grades are good. It was a one-time slip up; I hadn't eaten much that day and the stuff hit me harder than I expected."

"Yeah, I figured that." Mom says drily. "We're worried about you. This is your safety we're talking about. Your father and I couldn't bear it if we got a call from school about you… what if something happened to you, Jo? We already worry about your grades and now we need to worry about your downtime too. Honey, we love you and miss you. We only want what's best." She starts to sniff and a part of me shrivels inside as the guilt bears down. I don't want to be another thing to worry about when she's already lost so much. Another part of me, though, the part of me struggling to be free, wonders if this isn't just a ploy to control me into behaving the way she wants. The way I'm _supposed_ to.

And I'm pissed on some level that it's working, because I spend the next several hours letting her dress me in pink outfits that I hate.

-o-

My Dad wakes me up from my "Black Friday recovery nap" very late that afternoon.

"Jo, mail call." He hands me a small card, then sits down on my bed. "Did you and Mom have fun?"

I yawn. It takes me a split second to recall the lecture and the guilt that accompanied it. "Yeah," I lie.

He pats my leg. "Good. Why don't you get up and we can take a ride to the marina?"

I nod and stretch, telling him I'll meet him in 15 minutes. When he leaves, I flip the envelope over in my hands, searching for a return address – who would send me actual mail? There is no return address and my own is hand written in a large and angular cursive.

I don't like mysteries (I know, shocking, right?) so I rip into the envelope to expose a lovely monogram in black and white that I don't recognize. I flip the card open and a business card falls to the bed. _Angus MacLeod, MacLeod Construction,_ it says.

The Lion wrote to me? I open the card and the masculine script jumps out at me. I can almost read the brogue.

_Hello, Lass. I am jotting you a quick note to tell you how thoroughly I enjoyed meeting you the other day. My grandson has good taste in people and I hope he chooses to keep you around. You will be good for him._

_More importantly, you aren't afraid to take chances and say what you think. I admire that in anyone, and it's rare to see in young people today. Don't let that change._

_If you should need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me._

I stare at the card for a minute and grab a piece of notebook paper. It doesn't make me more than five minutes to jot down everything about my discussion with my mom and how it made me feel and how I wish I could be myself around my family. I thank him for letting me unload on him and shove the whole thing in an envelope.

When I meet my Dad downstairs, he stamps it for me and tells me we'll drop it in the mailbox on our way out.

-o-

My Dad and I have taken rides together as long as I can remember. He would load me up in the car and we would stop – first for milkshakes or soda, now for coffee or tea – and we would head to the marina to watch the boats and the ocean. Sometimes would we talk about school or music or our family. Sometimes we would just sit and think. It's been a staple of our relationship, a safe zone for discussions about boys and politics and history and religion. It's where some of my best memories were made.

We stop at Starbucks and joke on the way to the marina about how long it will take for our drinks to cool, park the car and sit on a bench. The quiet of the place as it gets to be near sunset seeps into my head and my heart; it quiets the static of the earlier hurt almost immediately. I breathe deeply and wonder if Katniss's woods do the same thing for her. I know for a fact that the pool does something akin to it for Finn. Don't we all need a quiet place to meditate?

And then it dawns on me that I am different from my friends in one regard: my father not only gave me this place as a gift, but he still shares it with me. This tradition is not something I do in his honor, like Katniss, or to emphasize his distance, like Finn. This single thought has me turning to look at my father and really _see_ him.

"What?" He glances my way when he senses my perusal.

I shake my head. How do I explain to him that he's sharply in focus as a person to me for the first time in a long time?

He looks back out at the sunset on the water and takes a tentative sip of his coffee. "I'm pretty sure your mom mentioned the video, didn't she?"

He doesn't look at me and I immediately feel the crushing weight of shame. He's disappointed in me, just like she said. He clears his throat and it immediately draws my attention to his hand rubbing the stubble on his jaw. He looks tired. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me as I steel myself for the lecture.

"Jo, we want you to have a good time at school. It's the reason we didn't send you to U.C. Irvine and make you live at home: it's critical for you to be able to screw up things without us hovering over you like helicopter parents. I see it all the time, kids who can't move without a parent breathing down their neck about the fact that they wipe their ass wrong. It's horrible. I realize Facebook makes that harder. Did she flip out at you about the video?" He turns to look at me.

I nod, tightlipped, gripping my chai tea latte with heavy foam so tightly that I think I might dent the cup.

He presses his lips together. "I'm not going to disagree with your mom, but I am going to say this: I spread some of my own wild oats and I'm glad I did." When he sees the looks of utter horror on my face, he laughs. "Now, Jo, don't be grossed out. I'm only telling you this because you need to know that this is the time for you to do all that. Not when you're thirty and you want to move home because you weren't allowed to make a mistake or two at eighteen. Do I wish it wasn't on camera? Yes. But even with the cameras – and they can follow you forever, by the way – you still need some latitude to find out what you like and what you hate and to screw some things up."

I'm quiet as his words soak into the knot of anxiety in my chest and eat away at it until there's only a tiny little ball of hardness left. Finally, I clear my throat and say, "But, your job… Mom said that you caught some bad press from the video."

"Ah, Jo, she brought that up? Yeah, there were some allegations, but you're out of the house now and eighteen. These are your choices, not mine. If you choose to dumb things on tape, I can't stop you. Hell, I took heat because you were a cheerleader too. I'll get over it." He stares out at the water again.

I want to reach across to him and take his hand. I want him to put his arm around me and tell me that he's not disappointed in me. He doesn't, though, and we stare as the sun sets on another perfect southern California day.

-o-

"What do you mean you're going back early?" I rasp into the phone on Saturday morning.

Finn sounds like hell. "I'm going back to school. You're welcome to come with." When I don't answer him right away, he continues in a low tone, "My dad…let's just say we had quite the conversation last night."

"Oh, Finn. Fuck him! He's not even there. I'm sorry." I can't keep the heat from coloring my own words.

Finn sighs deeply. "Jo, he's really upset. He says that the video is going to affect his P.R. and that he can't afford it right now and then he flipped out about the tattoo, too. I told him that I have to work, so I'm just going to head back to school and lay low for a while Do you want to come?"

"And leave all this?" I laugh. My family may drive me nuts, but I miss my little brothers so fiercely that I want to spend as much time as I can with them. They are growing up so fast. So I say seriously, "I was hoping to stay through tomorrow. I can take the train back if you can pick me up. Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine. And that stuff we talked about on the way down? Just forget it. Obviously, I've got bigger problems than a girl who won't give me the time of day."

"Finn, come on. If you like her, you don't just shut that off because of a fight with your dad…"

"Jo, it's fine. Text me your train time and I'll come get you tomorrow. I've got to go."

When he disconnects, I want to scream out my frustration with his dad, my mom, all of it.


	16. Return to Paradise

I use the train time to jot in what I call my "Jo Journal". It doesn't take long to catalog some of the less fine moments of the holiday, along with my entire food intake and miles run. I do, however, add a little something about the trip to the marina with my dad because it's a moment I would like to hang onto forever.

I sit and stare out the window, trying my best not to talk to any of the drunken partiers on the San Diego to L.A. weekend train, my mind can't help but wander back to Finn's question: _How_ _do you make someone like you?_

That, of course, takes me back to Katniss and Peeta. She had been sicker than a dog when I left for Thanksgiving. I re-read the phone text conversations to see if I can piece together what they were actually doing, instead of the poorly scripted porn I have in my head. Call it a puzzle, call it a distraction from the ride, call it a way to dissuade other riders from talking to me, I want to know what is going on with those two. _Something_ must have happened for Katniss to stop responding as abruptly as she did.

Me (to Peeta): _What size were boxers do you wear?_

Peeta: _Happy Thanksgiving to you too. Why do you need to know?_ Peeta must have wondered why I'm asking him about the size of his junk. I'm pretty sure the question mortified him. I don't get it, though; if I was sporting a Gatling gun in my pants, I'd broadcast it to the world on Tumblr. Probably with pictures.

Me: _Because they were comfy. I might buy myself a pair._ I left out the fact that I was just going to steal his if he didn't tell me.

Peeta: _Large. Have you checked in on Katniss?_ Aha! I knew he was packing a Sequoia in those jeans! Because those hips of his ain't a large…. I wonder if Katniss realizes that he's toting more than a fun-sized candy bar?

The more interesting part of the text is that Peeta didn't know Katniss was sick when I left. That means that someone told him. Which means, of course, that he probably rode in on his smoking-hot, black ride to come to her rescue. In our dorm room. While she was by herself. I briefly lose myself in a doctor fantasy that has a faceless guy in a lab coat, rubbing Vick's VapoRub all over my naked breasts, but I shake myself back to reality and put it away for later when I remember that I'm on a train. Instead, I flip to the Katniss side of the conversation.

Me (to Katniss): _He's there, isn't he?_ It was a long shot. Maybe he just knew she was sick and had dropped off some soup or something. Come to think of it, that's totally a Peeta Mellark move. He drops off some soup, she invites him in… Cue Marvin Gaye.

Katniss: _Maybe_. I can almost hear her flirty smirk. Bitch. She knows that's how to make me curious. That one word, though, also tells me that she's feeling well enough to joke around and that the answer isn't "No." Actually, with an answer like that, it tells me that he's either there, or had been there and left. Most of all, it tells me that she wanted him there.

I flip back to the Peeta conversation.

Me (to Peeta): _What's going on with you and Katniss? You're not taking care of her are you? When are you going to get some game, brainless?_ I was just trolling with that comment to try to triangulate his position. I was secretly hoping it's on top of Katniss, but I doubt that he would have been texting me back if that were the case.

I poked at Katniss at the same time. One of them was going to give me some information, right?

Me (to Katniss): _Please tell me you aren't sick and just used this as an excuse to fuck his brains out._

Katniss: _I'll never tell._ I want to pump my fist in the air because that response means she absolutely wanted to bone him.

Me: _How big is he? Because those boxers were roomy._

What? They were! We've already established that "large" means a super-sized crotch rocket hides in his pants. It's a little like Nessie: rumored to be large but uncorroborated.

Katniss: _I'll bet he's a large. How's your Thanksgiving weekend?_ OK. So maybe she hadn't ridden his giant purple-helmeted warrior of love yet, or she wouldn't have changed the subject. But she didn't balk, so I'll bet she wanted to check him out up close and personal.

Me: _Don't change the subject. There're condoms in my top dresser drawer._ More trolling. Exactly how up close did she want to get?

Katniss: _I'll tell you about my weekend when you get back - you're not missing much._ Yeah. Like her alone time with Mellark doesn't top my shopping spree. Then again, if I were there, she wouldn't have had alone time with him. And they _are_ alone. Katniss may seem demure, but all that time in the woods means she's hiding a wildcat. Which means I had to ask…

Me: _You are just fucking with me, right? The two of you are not boning in our room right now?_

And that's when she stopped responding. Which means that I'm dying over here. It's a long shot that the two of them had Marvin Gaye playing all weekend, but it's a possibility. And that means that I could be walking into anything.

My phone buzzes, bringing me back to earth instead of staring off into space and imagining all sorts of embarrassing scenarios with Katniss and Peeta.

Finn to me: _I can't come get you – had to work. Sending a back-up._

I nod at the phone, actually thrilled at the possibility that he is sending Peeta. That would give me a chance to get him alone and ask him some questions. Peeta is totally obvious when it comes to his relationship with Katniss, so I can get an idea pretty quickly if I need to wash my sheets and have a HazMat crew come detox my dorm room, and I don't mean because Katniss was sick.

-o—

The train pulls into the station and I wait for most of the passengers to disembark. I grab my things and make my way down the ramp and into the tunnel below the tracks, picking my way over the terracotta tile. After a hundred or so steps, I realize that my light-pink espadrilles, which Barb had paired with a pink and white dress – a slip with a lace over-dress – are totally impractical for walking large distances towing a roll-along piece of luggage. Come to think of it, the whole outfit is probably ridiculous for Los Angeles in late November after the sun has set and I slip off the shoes to carry them so I don't end up with a broken ankle.

When the tunnel ends in Union Station proper, the ceiling vaulting above me like a cathedral, and couples greeting each other all around with passionate hugs and kisses, I feel like I am in a Bogart film. At least I'm not underdressed. My heart sighs a bit that I don't have someone here to act out an epic love scene with here, even as I scan for Peeta. I reach into my purse to see if he has sent a text message with an ETA when I hear someone call my name.

And it's most definitely _not_ Peeta.

Fuck.

Brue makes his way over to me and I swear I can almost see us in another reality, me letting my bag and shoes drop to the tile floor with a thunk while I run into his arms. He swings me around and his lips crush mine. He smells like a blend of baby powder and some sort of spicy deodorant as I thread my fingers through his hair…

"Jo?" Brue asks. He stands right in front of me.

I blink to clear the passionate image out of my head. "Brue. Hey. Happy Thanksgiving. How'd you end up on pick up?"

"Yeah… you too. I texted Finn and let him know I was heading back from the Hollywood Hills and he said you needed a ride. I volunteered." He gestures to me to hand over my luggage handle, so I do. We walk in silence to the front door where we pause so I can slide my feet into my heels.

When we get to his car and I slide inside, he clears his throat. "You look great. I was thinking that, maybe we could grab dinner before we head back to school."

It's not a question, really, but I nod anyway. "Sure. Sounds good." I'm not sure why I have butterflies in my stomach. After all, it's not like it's a date or anything. The butterflies get worse when I notice him checking out my legs and I have to stop my hands from pulling my skirt down to cover more of them: let him look. It's not like I'm indecent.

-o—

We finish dinner at Chichen Itza, an amazing Mexican food place a couple of blocks from campus. My Tamal Colado is so moist that it's almost like eating a corn pudding with smoky chicken. It's balanced with a counterpoint of the Jicama and Naranja Salad - a sweet and crunchy palate cleanser with a hot, cayenne after-kick. It's an amazing meal and we have some great conversation about our respective holidays. I describe my brothers and explain how I ended up with even more pink in my wardrobe, he explains how the Lion has a family gathering that eclipses the size of some small European countries. We fall into a companionable silence that has me again telling myself that this is not a date, when I notice Brue's brooding at me over his glass of iced tea in a way reminiscent of Gale Hawthorne.

When I can't take it anymore, I demand, "What?"

He fiddles with a packet of Splenda for a moment, then stills and meets my eyes steadily, like he's coming to a decision. "You need to ease up on the Peeta thing."

"Excuse me?" It's the last thing I expect him to say. Like, even behind him asking to sleep with me. The date-butterflies, or whatever they are, fizzle out in my stomach.

"The Peeta thing. With Katniss. You need to ease up on throwing them together all the time."

"How is this any business of yours? It's just all in fun."

He shakes his head, "No, it's not, not for Peeta. You're cock-blocking him and hes' a fraternity brother of mine."

"I'm _what?_ " That's a pretty heavy accusation in my book, never mind the fact that I've never even imagined Brue MacLeod using the word _cock-block_.

Brue's tone is matter of fact. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to pair him up with the _love of his life_ or whatever. But I had never heard him utter the name Katniss Everdeen before October. He was doing fine and had his pick of girls. Now, he's miserable all the time and he lives like a monk. Frankly, the whole frat house has taken up a lube collection for him, that's how much he's angsturbating, and you keep throwing what he can't have in his face. We're young and he should be out there having a good time, not saving himself for some girl who barely gives him the time of day."

"Katniss gives him more than the time of day. So, they're not together yet: some people take time for the slow burn to heat up. Besides, don't you think this is Peeta's decision? Who he waits for?" I tap my fingers against my glass of ice water, furious at this conversation. I'll freak out over Brue referencing lube later.

Brue shakes his head. "She doesn't. If you weren't so in love with the idea of them getting together, you would see what I see: she doesn't really spend much time with him. You're filling his head with this idea that she's coming around and, if she is, it will be next year before it happens. All the while, he is watching every one of his friends hook up, including Gale." He shoots me a look.

Fuck. He knows about Gale. And what about Brue? Does he hook up?

"…and you get to put it out there and go back to your boyfriend who conveniently lives in your dorm. You're pushy, Jo."

I pause for a minute, despite wanting to breathe fire at him, and I don't think it's because of the hot sauce. The texts, the conversation about the tree, Peeta's face and later Katniss's voice when we talked about the Fifty Shades of Gray incident…those are not the marks of people who are oblivious to each other. Am I being pushy? Well, yeah. But I tell myself it's only because they deserve each other.

My jaw locks, "And if I don't back off?"

Brue gives a sigh. "Well, I don't think it's fair that you're getting laid and he's not."

The sentence hangs in the air.

"What are you suggesting?" I stare at him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm suggesting that you take a vow of celibacy: you don't get some until Peeta does."

I'm glad I haven't taken a sip of water, because I would have spit it out. "What?"

Brue continues, "If the two of them end up together in any fashion, you're free to do whomever you like. Until then, you need to feel what it's like to be him and want what you can't have. Maybe then you'll get an appreciation for what he's going through and drop it. It's only fair."

"What's the time limit?" I'm curious, after all the thought he seems to have put into this, what sort of limits he's put on it.

"If they're not together by the end of the school year, then you can do whatever you like, with whomever you like." He sits back with a grin on his face.

"That's like six months of celibacy." My mouth gapes open and shut.

"Aren't you confident that they'll end up together?" He asks, casually inspecting a cuticle.

Fuck. You. Brue.

I shake my head. "You are a bastard. Ok. If they haven't boned by the time the Jacaranda bloom, I'll admit defeat publicly and quit matchmaking. Until then… I'll do it. Starting tomorrow."

He raises an eyebrow. "Big plans tonight, Jo?" At my smirk, he laughs, "Ok, Ok. I like it. It's a little Disney-esque, but it works. Deal."

I hold out my hand steadily for Brue to shake. He has no idea that I'm already plotting ways to up the ante and get those two together in time for me to ring in the New Year with a bang. I think back to the text messages from Friday – hell, they could already be together!

-o—

It's probably not shocking that I'm not in the best mood when I get to my room. I feel a little bit better though, when I hear Everdeen's peals of laughter and have to demand that Peeta and Finn tell me what is going on when I see them holding her down.

Finn dodges the explanation by blaming it on Peeta and asks me about the train ride and Brue, which I most certainly do _not_ want to discuss. Fuck Brue MacLeod and his crazy idea of enforced celibacy. I push it out of my mind to focus on the issue at hand: exactly what did Katniss and Peeta do for Thanksgiving?

So I ask, and we all talk and laugh about the holiday. I notice that Finn puts down his pen to tell a story about my brothers beating him at Xbox, but Peeta doesn't. Peeta keeps his pen moving, drawing details of something that looks like a flower on Katniss's hip and outer thigh and she's stopped laughing. It's not quite foreplay, but it's still a pretty intimate gesture. I wonder if Peeta notices that she's no longer ticklish when he's touching her.

I get up to put my things away from the weekend while they rag on me about Brue. I wisely hold my tongue because, in a game of "fuck him or kill him" I'm plotting how best to dig out Brue MacLeod's heart with a spoon. Finn actually texts him to make sure he's alright and I cross to the mini fridge to put my Mallomars inside.

What? They're better cold.

Imagine my surprise when it looks like the take-and-eat food area of a Costco.

"What the hell is all this?" I motion to the containers that seem to have yellow pudding, some sort of soup and what looks disturbingly like half a pie in them.

Katniss laughs and says in a voice not quite fully recovered from being sick, "Peeta brought over some leftovers."

"Gee, you think? Is that half a pumpkin pie?" I gesture to the fridge.

Peeta blushes a little. "It's actually pumpkin chiffon rather than the more classic pumpkin custard."

I don't even let him finish before I'm handing out forks and pulling the container out of the fridge. "As long as it has the words _pumpkin_ and _pie_ in it, that's good enough for me."

I slide the container onto the floor and we don't bother with plates. The first bite does not disappoint: it's creamy and cool with just the right hint of pie spice. Lighter than a traditional pumpkin pie, I'm pretty sure I could devour the entire piece. The crust alone cements Peeta as a Pied Piper.

Get it?

Finn watches me for a second. "Glad to see you've found your appetite again, Jo."

"Mmm," I say as I take another bite, "This isn't all I'm hungry for. You kids going to be okay down here by yourselves tonight?" I keep my tone casual, but I'm really directing the question at Katniss and Peeta. Do they want to be alone?

Katniss blushes a little and looks at Peeta under her lashes. "I'll be okay."

Ah. So they haven't done the nasty yet. Or, if they have, he's not so into her that any night without a roommate makes him yell, "Game on!" I smile and wink at Katniss, silently willing her to invite Peeta to stay, and slide my espadrilles back on my feet. With a jaunty wave, I head upstairs.

I have to mentally fortify myself as I stand in front of Brian's door, preparing to knock: we haven't said more than a few tense words since the night of the frat party and the Technicolor yawn seen 'round the world. Hey, I can call it that – it's does have almost one hundred _likes_.

He opens the door, although he is not smiling. I feel such relief that he opened the damn door -such a rush of affection for his familiar face – that I rush in and throw my arms around him. He smells of green apple shampoo and Irish Spring. I breathe the scent of him where his neck meets his shoulder and close my eyes, tightening my arms around his neck; we may not be perfect, but my body recognizes his like a long-lost puzzle piece.

He sighs heavily in my ear. His arms loop around my waist as the door clicks shut.

"Jo…" His voice has a cautious note to it. Whatever he wants to say, I don't want to hear it.

"I've missed you." I breathe against his neck. I'm suddenly trembling with fear over his rejection of me. I can't bear to hear all the ways we don't work and I brace myself for when he inevitably pushes me away.

"You have?" He gives a small laugh.

I'm surprised to hear a reaction like that; like my words were the last thing he expected. I sag against him when I feel his lips nuzzle next to my ear. It makes the next words easy to say and full of genuine emotion. "So much."

I feel his lips trace my collarbone right above the lace of the dress, then linger at my pulse point before traveling up to my ear. "Me too." He nibbles my earlobe and I run my fingers through his short hair. "Did you wear that dress just for me?"

I lean my head back and giggle in relief: leave it to Brian to think that I dressed hours ago for nothing more than his pleasure. I wish I had thought of it, to be honest, when Barb suggested this outfit. He must take it as a yes because his lips travel to mine. He tastes like peppermint and it clashes a little with my pumpkin, but neither of us seems to mind. I lose myself in the feel of his shoulders, the stroking of his tongue. I know him by heart; I can trace his outline in the dark or with my eyes shut.

So when he clicks off the lights and backs me up until his desk is against my butt, I know where this is leading. I don't mind.

His hands slide under my dress and nudge me apart. I'm already wet and bracing my hands on the desk for his mouth. I gasp when his tongue parts me with one long lick and shorter strokes that quickly have my hips moving to bring his tongue closer. The flat of his tongue laps at me gently. Carefully, he slides one finger, then two inside me, all the while keeping his tongue and hot breath just off-center of where I need them most. I'm almost thankful, though, because I don't want to fall apart without him inside me.

I push at his shoulders insistently, unable to actually verbalize what I want. He knows, though. He always knows how to get me teetering on the edge.

Which is why I'm surprised when he pauses for a minute after sliding his pants off and pulls out a foil packet.

He quickly sheaths himself in the condom. I shiver from the coolness of the lubricant for a second, but it's quickly replaced with a moan as he slides inside me. I wrap my legs around his waist as we watch each other come apart in the dim light of the streetlamp streaming in the window.

"Are you staying?" he asks me afterward, as he ties off the condom and straightens his clothes.

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I watch him, so I nod instead of answer.

We make quick work of getting ready for bed as a thousand thoughts spin around in my head. When we climb onto his lofted bed, I spy a three-pack of condoms next to his alarm clock. Why is he suddenly wearing them? I'm on the Pill – have been since high school – and he's never worn one with me except for our first time. With the Student Health Center readily accessible, it had been easy to get tested and give each other our results. So why switch back without discussing it with me first? It's not like I'm against them or anything. It just seems like an odd change to make without a conversation.

We talk a bit about our holidays but it's almost like we're just being polite rather than the fun sharing of experiences that happened downstairs. He doesn't laugh when I talk about my brothers having a belching contest and I wonder at the fact that his Grandparents sound really stiff when he describes their whole dinner. It sounds like everything had to be perfect.

Finally, I can't hold back any longer. I turn to face him and ask the burning question that won't leave me alone, "Brian, why did you wear a condom?"

"Jo, I'm tired."

Never mind that a second ago he was awake and telling me about crudité. I feel my jaw clench. I don't care how tired he is, if he can be balls deep in me an hour ago, he can talk to me about his choice of protection.

"Come on, Brian, talk to me."

He looks at me for a moment. I'm transported back to the second he told me he loved me because this look feels just as pivotal. Like we're standing on another relationship precipice.

"You've been acting so strangely and it's obvious that you've got other male _friends_. I thought that I would be as safe as I can be. To protect myself."

The way he stresses the word "friends" makes me want to scream.

"Are you saying that you think I'm sleeping around?" My voice is a low growl. It would make sense based on what he thinks he saw at the frat party before we left for break.

"I'm saying that, if we're going to continue to sleep together, I need to be responsible."

He doesn't mean responsible for us, though. He means responsible for him. Responsible for us would be palatable, flattering even. But the fact that he spins it about him means that those millimeters of latex might as well represent the Grand Canyon between us.

I shiver. "Would you rather break up?" I say the words I've been dreading all night.

He runs a hand down the side of my face. "No. I love you, Johanna."

"I love you too." I say, perhaps more strongly than I should, relieved at his lack of rejection. It doesn't make what comes next any easier for me to say. "Maybe…maybe we should take a break from sex, though. Until you feel like you can trust me again." It's not the condoms I have problem with, it's the lack of trust. I'd rather not have sex with someone who can't believe good things about me. Plus, it helps me to follow through on the deal I made earlier with Brue.

He pauses for a full thirty beats of my heart before I hear him sigh and agree.

His arms slide around me and his breathing evens out awhile later and it's even longer until my eyelids droop. I stare at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep and feeling more alone than I have in a long time.


	17. Standing Up for What's Right

I've fallen into a routine with Dr. Aurelius: we meet after my last class on Tuesdays, then I head over to the frat house for Tuesday dinners with Peeta, Katniss, and the gang. Dr. Aurelius irks me with his pointed questions and bland expressions that see right through my attempts at topic avoidance. I'm usually in a bad mood when I finally leave, so I like the fact that my friends help bring me back some semblance of normalcy. The last thing I need is to go back to my dorm room and mope.

The Jo Journal continues to grow and Dr. A. has heard all about my cease fire with Brian. I've explained that I'm using it as an excuse to take some time and think through whether or not I love him. I have to be honest, though, I miss getting laid regularly. Dr. A. doesn't seem shocked when I admit that to him. I swear that he attempts to stare me down with narrowed eyes when I follow it up with a compliment on his physique.

What? Do I need to remind you that he looks like Jeremy Fucking Renner? Plus, it's totally normal to have some sort of crush on your therapist. I'm just lucky that mine doesn't look like a troll. Sometimes after a session, I've been so pissed at him that I've gone back to my dorm and watched the Jeremy Renner kissing scene from _The Unusuals_ , or ogled him in his really tight gray suit in _Mission Impossible 4._ It's my little way of balancing out any wrong I feel has happened.

My appointment is right after Peeta's. It was weird the first time we bumped into each other and I could tell by the way he kept looking around that he was glad Everdeen wasn't around. We've gotten used to passing each other in the hallway. He'll smile and maybe wave and I'll give him a tight smile in return. I don't think either of us is in the mood for chit-chat. We haven't talked about the weird coincidence of the timing of our sessions to each other and I can't tell if it's good or bad that we've developed our own "therapy code".

I'm still running, most of the time with Brue. I spend half of the time cajoling him into doing more miles or running faster and he always responds by telling me how pushy I am.

Duh. Like that's news to anyone?

Tonight's a typical Tuesday: Katniss and Peeta are intent in a discussion of her pants – and that's not a euphemism! She's brought over the jeans that Peeta and Finn decorated the night I came back from Thanksgiving and she's explaining the problem. She doesn't want the drawing to fade, since it's already partially obliterated by the one washing she's given them so far. Peeta asks if she'd consider dry cleaning them. When she nods, he asks her to leave them after dinner and promises he'll touch up the damage that the crappy dorm washers have inflicted. Good thing Katniss uses crappy detergent and not Tide, or he'd be re-working the whole thing.

Peeta disappears upstairs to presumably put Katniss's wearable canvas in his room. Brue, who's just gotten back from practice, gives me a searing look before I can make a comment about Peeta finally managing to get into Everdeen's pants. I shoot him a dirty look but keep my mouth shut nonetheless. After all, the goal is to get more than her pants lying across his bed, not to embarrass them both.

Gale pulls the lasagna from the oven in an oddly domestic gesture. Katniss serves the salad while I slice up the bread and Brue gets us cups of water. Finn and Madge divide up silverware and we all sit down to eat in a flurry of laughter and jockeying for who sits where. We finally dig into the meal and it's as good as everything else Peeta has ever made: the bread is perfectly chewy and warm, mellow and sweet chunks of roasted garlic making butter superfluous. It is an excellent vehicle for the tomato sauce with undertones of basil and notes of oregano and cheesy béchamel.

I want to roll in it so that my whole body can feel the way my mouth does.

Finn breaks the reverent quiet as he clears his throat and asks, "Hey. Um…anyone willing to give me some advice on how to show a girl you're interested in her?"

I hear Madge gasp. "Finn? You like someone? Really?" She sighs heavily and I roll my eyes at her for being such a romantic sap.

"Yeah. And I'm not sure how to show her that I'm interested, like, for real."

Peeta is the first to answer. "How about finding something you both like to do? Is she into art? Because there's the great exhibit at the Getty coming up…"

I don't think I'm imagining how his eyes rest on Everdeen when he mentions it, but only for a second.

Gale says what I'm thinking, "Oh, I bet I know something they both like to _do_." He waggles his eyebrows and I grin at him: we don't always see eye to eye, but Hawthorne does have moments of brilliance.

"No, no. Come on, you guys. Finn's being serious." Katniss hasn't taken her eyes off of his while the rest of us are goofing around. When she answers, she talks slowly, "I think it's about little things that show her you're thinking of her and trying to make a connection."

Madge lobbies, "But a grand gesture is wonderful too. You could play her favorite song on a boom box under her window."

I snort. "Madge, no one even owns a boom box these days. Stop watching John Cusack movies."

"You have a suggestion, Jo?" It's Brue, and his smirk makes me want to flick an olive from my salad in his direction.

The funny thing is that I don't really have any ideas: my limited boyfriend experiences have happened when I've made the first move or they've done something overt, like corner me in a coat closet at a party. I know Finn can't do anything with that in his current predicament but it's all I've got, "You need to make sure you're attracted to each other."

Madge shakes her head, "God, Jo. Do you have a romantic bone in your body?"

I'm almost ready to blurt out that romance and boning have nothing to do to one another when Finn butts in, "Madge, leave her alone. We know that Jo has a one-track mind: even her Facebook page doesn't have _Like_ buttons. It has little icons that look like dicks." He laughs, obviously knowing that I'm no help.

Brue mentions a concert as a way to get her to open up. Gale uses movies as his go-to device. The brainstorm goes on and on until the ideas get sillier as our dinners disappear.

Finally, Finn can't help laughing when Brue suggests after hearing that she likes the water too, "Challenge her to a race in the pool."

The conversation immediately devolves into Finn defending his swimming abilities and Brue telling him to prove it the next time they're at the pool together. I might really be into the homo-erotic image the conversation evokes if I weren't so distracted by my total lack of game. It actually stings a little bit, everyone knowing how little help I can be for this question. Like I'm…well…not a girl. Or like girls are something that you put some amount of work into and _poof!_ the girl falls in love because she can't help it, like an exchange of goods.

-o—

By the time we're walking back to the dorms, I've lapsed into silence. I'm surprised when Everdeen doesn't comment on my lack of conversation, except that her freaking phone keeps signaling new text messages. At one point, just as we get to our dorm room, she actually giggles while her thumbs dance over the keyboard.

I change for bed and brush my teeth. When I return, she is sitting on the bed in red Rudolph reindeer pajamas, typing furiously.

"Jo?" She asks when she's done typing. "Are you sure it's okay if I come home with you for Christmas? Your family won't mind?"

We've discussed this a few times since I got back from Thanksgiving and I've cleared it already with Mom and Dad. They're excited to have another person to fawn all over. Frankly, I think Mom is just hoping to avoid the awkwardness of Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure that Katniss is going to be the perfect buffer between us all.

So I answer honestly, "They love you. We're going to have a lot of fun and I could use someone to keep me from being bored out of my mind while I'm there. Are you sure you don't mind having to tag along?" I know she'd rather go home and see her sister, but I get that "want"and "are financially able to" are two different things for Katniss Everdeen.

She opens her mouth but the vibrating of her phone interrupts whatever she was going to say. She glances at it and a grin splits her face. Before she can stop me, I cross to the bed and grab the phone out of her hand.

"What the fuck, Katniss? Who have you been texting all night?"

Her phone is unlocked, so I can clearly see the text that's displayed. It's from Peeta and it seems to be a description of what he's doing to her pants.

Again, not a euphemism.

"Peeta's just sending me ideas he has for my pants. He's taking the plain pen and ink and adding some color."

I lock eyes with her and cock an eyebrow. "Are you even listening to yourself? This last one says _because it's my favorite flower_. What does that mean?"

"He's painting an orange hibiscus design. Scroll back and there's a mockup from his sketchbook. Orange is his favorite color."

Like an idiot, I do what she's saying; only to discover that it's really beautiful. He's also sent some shots of the painting in progress. I wordlessly hand her phone back to her, shut off the light and cross to my bed. I lay there for a minute as I hear her typing what is probably a good night message.

"You're really into him." I try not to sound excited or giddy. This could be the breakthrough I need to get the two of them together and get myself back on the male hobby horse by New Year's. Katniss's laugh is nervous, tentative. "No, really. You are," I state the obvious, again.

"Jo, I don't even know how to be into a guy. How does that work? Do you follow him around like a puppy and fawn all over him batting your eyelashes?"

I know this is a big deal to her, so I answer honestly. "You do whatever feels right. I don't think Peeta expects you to become something you're not. And a fawning sycophant you are definitely not."

"He told me…he told me that he cares about me. Not when you were gone for Thanksgiving, but before that." Her voice is quiet. Timid. I haven't heard Katniss sound this tentative since the day she first introduced herself to me.

"What did you say?" I'm genuinely curious. I get why she might have kept this to herself. It's not lost on me that, by deciding to share it, she's hit some sort of decision point in her relationship with him.

"I told him that I didn't know how to deal with that. That I wouldn't accept it. And he got angry – angrier than I've ever seen – like a totally different guy. He sort of stopped speaking to me, really. I hated it. So I started texting him stupid stuff: jokes and the weather and it sort of snowballed from there."

I may be from California, but I know that snowballs get bigger as they roll downhill and pick up speed. It makes me want to fist pump, because I think I know where this is leading. It's a lot slower than any relationship I've ever been in, but it seems to be working for them. And, if there's one thing I do know, it's that delayed gratification makes the release even better.

"That's awesome, Katniss." I truly believe it's going to be. And I only marginally want to take the credit for bringing them together.

"You really think so, Jo? You're better at this whole relationship thing than I am."

That makes me a little sad. _If she only knew._ "I do think it's awesome. Just keep doing what feels right."

When we finally say our goodnights, it dawns on me that she and Peeta have the answer to the question that Finn asked. Katniss tried to put it into words but no one heard her: Finn needs to insinuate himself into the tiny details of every day for Annie so that she has to think about him. Like he is laying tinder, carefully getting ready to light a blaze. It's not an exchange of goods at all: it's laying the foundation for a spark to catch fire.

-o—

We're at another frat party, attempting to avoid the panic attacks that signal our impending finals. I've dragged Brian along again so that we can have some couple time and so that he doesn't think that I'm avoiding him now that we're not having sex. Peeta's taken to home-brewing and has us all drinking some ginger beer (fermented, not carbonated, whatever that means) that's fizzy and flavorful. At least, Brian seems to like it so much that I wonder if he's got a bromance going with the Peeta for all the exclaiming and quizzing he's doing of our friendly brewer/baker/chemist.

Hey, if Katniss isn't going to make a move on Peeta, someone should. The poor guy deserves _some_ action.

Watching the two of them talk and laugh without so much as including me in the conversation, I recall why I don't like going to parties with Brian The Buzz Kill. I leave the two of them to discuss the merits of brewing and what Peeta's next recipe should be and scope out the rest of the party. After all, I'm pretty comfortable flying solo. Comfortable? What I really mean is that my untapped libido is making me hunt like a great white shark; insatiable and indiscriminate. It's probably for the best that Brian is with me, or I might end up with a tray piled higher than a visit to Golden Corral.

Truth be told, I would be bored if it weren't for my drive to fuck something. Every frat party is starting to look the same: beer pong and poker and keg stands, and people puking and hooking up and breaking up. There's loud music and grinding, sweaty bodies of various shapes and sizes.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

I find Finn chatting up a petite blonde named Karen. She's a little too girl-next-door for Finn's usual taste, but I can tell she's into him by the way she flips her hair in the universal girl signal for "land that ass over here". She's got a killer smile and immediately includes me in the conversation when Finn introduces us. Turns out that she's a fellow Engineering major, although hers is Bioengineering and I wonder if Finn realizes that he's going for more substance with this one than he normally does.

Truth be told, I'm a little disappointed that he's obviously intending to hit it with someone: doesn't his version of true love involve saving himself for Annie? I shake myself mentally for being a hypocrite. Who am I to judge how Finn spends his spare time? Until a week or so ago, nothing good on Netflix was an excuse for me to bone something.

But whatever. Karen seems like a nice person, so we talk for a bit. She lets it slip that she used to teach line dancing and Finn winks at me. I know where this is leading and I'm okay with it. Why not learn something new? At least I can line dance alone.

"Line dance? You mean like country western line dance?" Finn gives her the wide-eyed and moist lipped look that makes him look so innocent.

She blushes and hides behind a curtain of shoulder length hair. "I know, it's lame. But it was fun and it was, like ten dollars an hour. And you can do it to any sort of music."

I interject, "Oh, Karen... no need to be embarrassed. Finn and I, we were cheerleaders. And we did that shit for _free_."

She smiles widely and asks, "That was true?"

Ah, yes. Finn is freaking legendary and I say so.

Finn laughs his patented panty-disintegrator laugh, complete with flashing dimples. "Karen, nothing you do can be more embarrassing than having to wear Johanna here as a hat all through high school. I don't suppose you'd want to show us some moves? Maybe teach us some stuff?"

She nods, eyes shining. Fucking Finnick Odair loves a confident woman and she's just putty in his hands. So to speak.

Finn asks me to pick some music and I don't think the bodies grinding to the heavy bass are even gonna notice when I swap what they're listening to for a new song. I grin like an idiot when the opening to _Pom_ _Poms_ starts.

Hey, it's a perky song. So what if it's by the Jonas Brothers?

Karen's got us dancing in no time and all three of us are laughing. Pretty soon I look around and damn if she doesn't have a bunch of us dancing along with her: it's like we're the extras in the freaking Footloose remake by the looks of it. She's laughing and Finn's laughing and he has his arm around her and it dawns on me that she's pretty awesome. I'd want to be her friend if she wasn't about to become another one of the Odair Fuck-bots, the nameless, faceless parade of girls that Finn gets sees briefly and who then disappear from sight.

It's a great time and I've almost forgotten to be bored. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madge stop a guy who has a girl in a sparkly sequined top thrown over his shoulder as he tries to leave the party. He's a pretty good looking blonde that I briefly considered as a tribute to my insatiable libido the night I slept with Gale. I think his name is Cato. I make my way closer to the two of them until I can hear her heated words.

Madge stands in between him and the open door. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave with that girl."

To say that Cato looks pissed is an understatement. He looks like he's about to mow Madge over. "She's my girlfriend."

Madge stands her ground and says calmly. "She's passed out. Are you aware that, in California, if the girl is drunk and consents, it's still rape?"

"Yeah, so?" Cato looks less attractive when his face gets red, like it's doing now.

Madge holds out a hand in a reasonable gesture, but it's like trying to reason with a crazed bull. "So I think it's best if we sober her up a bit. Once she's sober, she can decide if she leaves with you."

"Fuck you." He dismisses her with a sneer and makes for the door.

Without thinking, I intervene. Cato has no choice but to put the girl down when I poke him in the chest. "Can't find a girl with an actual pulse to sleep with? Sounds like the mark of an insecure guy to me. You must have something to hide." I hold up my pinky finger in the universal sign for small peen. I notice that Madge and Finn have eased the girl wearing the sequined top – I've nicknamed her _Glimmer_ —into a sitting position and are attempting to wake her up. I decide to toy with Cato a bit to take his attention off of them while they assess whether we need to call in a professional to make sure she's alright.

His eyes narrow, "Hey. I know you. You're a slut."

I laugh at him. "Someone sounds envious - like he wants a piece of Georgia."

Peeta's come over to join the commotion and sounds confused when he asks, "Who's Georgia?"

I look over my shoulder. "Brainless, that's my vag. I call her Georgia because she's prettier than a Georgia O'Keefe." I turn back to face Cato. "I'm flattered, really. Let me let you down as gently as I know how: if you told me that you were hung like a bear and had a vibrating dick with hips like pistons, I still wouldn't fuck you. Not even if I had a disposable vagina and was coated in full body latex."

Cato blinks, trying to process my words through his drunken fog. He's weaving on his feet. I can't even imagine how he was going to carry Glimmer back to whatever cave he inhabits without falling and hurting either one or both of them. With luck he won't remember any of this tomorrow.

Madge and Finn have gotten some signs of life from Glimmer. I idly wonder if Peeta is going to have yet another overnight guest: the guy should charge a nursing and room rental fee. I'm relieved that this scene is almost over, though. Even the brief fun of playing with Cato was only momentary and I'm right back to being bored. _Will this night ever be over?_

I can tell Cato's registered that I'm dissing him when he comes back with, "You wish you had a piece of this." He makes a crude grab for his crotch which makes me laugh out loud. He must not like that because his eyes narrow as he spits out, "You're a dyke."

"Really? Which is it? Do I have a lot of sex? Or sex with girls? Or a lot of sex with girls? Is your next insult going to be that I dress too well or my boobs are too big? Because I think you're upset that it's just you and your hand tonight. Look. We're doing you a favor: now you and the future stripper you were attempting to carry off can wait and hook up at another party. One where you're not so drunk that it's going to take a tomato stake and a twist tie for penetration to occur. Go home. Sleep it off."

I dismiss him with a wave and turn my back. That's not a smart move on my part because I hear him give a cry and then his footsteps rushing me. Next thing I know, there's the sound of him hitting the floor like a ton of bricks and Madge is standing over him with her hands on her hips.

"Fuck, Madge!" I stare at her, incredulous. Did she trip him? I swear, one minute he was coming toward me, the next he's flat on his ass. And Madge… she looks…different, somehow. Powerful. Not just bad ass, but bad ass and enjoying it. Like she's like to take a stiletto and grind it into his spine just to watch him squirm.

"Get. Out." She stares down at Cato, looking like a blonde freaking Wonder Woman or some sort of avenging angel. Finn winks at her from where he's still holding Glimmer. Katniss comes over with a high five for us both. Peeta and Brue help Cato to his feet and out the door.

Gale is the only one who doesn't move: he stares at the three of us like we've lost the little sense God gave us. And maybe we have – I doubt we've made a difference in Glimmer's or Cato's future choices. But I can't help feeling like we did a good thing by keeping Glimmer safe while she can't speak for herself tonight.

My great mood doesn't last long.

"Johanna, what the hell was that?" Brian runs his hands through his hair. He looks distressed.

I shake my head. "The guy was a dick and obviously too drunk to take her home."

"No. I mean, why did you get involved?"

"She was passed out and he could barely carry her. I was standing up for what was right, trying to keep her safe and make she was okay and you're going to give me shit for this?" I'm practically yelling at him, heedless of the group of people happily watching this epilogue to Cato getting ejected.

His next words slice through me. "It wasn't your business."

I feel ill and have to take deep breaths to suck air into my lungs. My voice drops to a dangerously quiet level. "What? She wasn't safe and you're saying it wasn't _my business_? Whose business was it if not mine?"

"You're making a scene." His voice is quiet too.

"Fine. Let's go upstairs and finish this. Peeta, can I borrow your room?" I grab Brian's hand and pull him past Peeta on our way upstairs. I wait until the door is shut firmly before rounding on him. "This is total bullshit. What we did down there – I would want someone to do it for me."

"Johanna, who are you? These crazy outbursts… they're not like you. The Johanna I love works hard and gets straight A's. She's serious and driven and she doesn't piss random people off by getting involved in their business."

I shake my head. "This isn't working, Brian. That Johanna – she doesn't exist. I'm impetuous. I like to laugh. I like having male friends, and I like being loud. Maybe you just never saw it before." Brian's jaw clenches and I feel a little tug down low that makes me want to run my tongue along it and tell him it will be ok. But it won't and I can't let sex dissuade me from doing what I see is the right thing.

"I have plans for us, Jo." He's walking toward me, pleading. "We get our A's and I get assigned to a submarine. You do graduate school in Connecticut or Massachusetts while I'm in Groton. We get married…"

"Whoa." I put my hand against his chest and push him back lightly. "Married?"

He ducks his head and nuzzles my neck, "Yeah. I love you. But you need to stop all of this craziness and act with some decorum. I'm going to be a naval officer someday."

I pull myself away. "No. _This_ is crazy. We're eighteen years old! We should be having fun and discovering who we are, not putting together the master project plan for our lives. I just want to have fun."

His hazel eyes look sadly at me. "Then I guess we want different things."

"Yeah." I know this means goodbye. Part of me actually wants to cry over it because I feel like I've invested so much in him and in us. And I do genuinely care about him. But the part of me that was bored downstairs is whispering in my ear that it will be better this way: he can find the love he deserves and I can find, well, whatever I want.

"So this is goodbye. You're going to regret this in a few years." He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I don't doubt that," I say. Hell, it's probably true. The guy is hot and stable and totally normal with a bright future ahead of him. What the fuck am I thinking?

I sit down heavily on Peeta's bed after the door slams and realize I've achieved the frat house trifecta: I've puked, hooked up and broken up all in the same frat house. I idly wonder if Lambda Chi will have a plaque made for me as I hug Peeta's pillow to my stomach and will myself not to cry.


	18. War

I flop down on the grass with Brue not far behind, catching my breath to the soothing sounds of L.A. traffic.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks as he eases his lean frame next to mine, "I can be a good listener."

I snort. "Fuck, no. I'd rather not get love advice from a guy who'd rather stay at home and shave his body hair than go on a date. As a matter of fact, I'd rather watch the porn version of _Doctor Who_."

"The what? "His white teeth flash against his tan skin. No one has a right to look that good when they're sweaty.

I make a tsk-ing sound. "It's not called _Doctor What_. It's called _Doctor How Hard_. It's the tale of a Time Lord with several incarnations who travels through time doing different women along the way. It's really riveting theater."

Brue smirks. "Stop trying to get us off topic. We were discussing your recent break-up."

"We were never on that topic." I look for a way to stave off whatever deep conversation he wants to have about my love life, or lack thereof. I find it when I swipe his iPhone.

He laughs. "You're going to be disappointed: I don't have a single track by Adele on there."

"Fuck you, Brue," I say, but it lacks my usual heat as I settle his earbuds in place.

The tracks are really good and I tell him so. His look tells me he's waiting for the inevitable criticism to cross my lips, but none comes. He leans back with a pleased smile on his face that gets wider when I ask if he can send me copies. _Calm your jets, buddy, it's not like I'm blowing you or anything,_ I think. Although I can't help from smiling back when he pulls an earbud from my ear and shoves it into his own, the iPhone resting between us.

-o-

I storm out of the Health Center blinking away angry tears and cursing fluently at Dr. Aurelius. I'm so angry that I'm going to go back to my dorm room and watch Avengers XXX in the hope that there's a slash scene that involves Hawkeye. _What a fucking assho—_

"Fuck!" I yell vehemently as I slam into something or someone.

Strong hands steady me and a concerned voice asks, "Jo, you okay?"

I push his hands away, probably harder than I should. "Peeta, you dildo, what the hell! You waited for me?" We still haven't talked about the strange timing of our appointments.

He blushes a little. "Yeah. I figure you've been at it for about four weeks now. That's right around the time when it gets a little uncomfortable. Want to talk about it?"

I look at him like he has two heads, the fury gathering. I swear, if I had laser beam eyes like that hot guy in X-Men, he would be dust right now. Fucking dust. I enunciate every word, spitting it out, "No. I. Do. Not. I'm going to go home and watch gay slash superhero porn."

I run my fingers through my hair, making it even spikier and continue speaking in spite of myself. "The thing is I went in there fully expecting to talk about Brian. I even had worked on it in the Jo Journal. But we got derailed when he asked me about my nightmares and he ended up asking me about Carys. Dr. Aurelius is an insistent dickhead."

Peeta stands patiently through my little tantrum. "I figured he'd want to talk about your sister around now."

"And you didn't warn me?" I slap him on the arm, hard.

He looks contrite. "Sorry. I should have warned you. I thought I'd wait for you in case you wanted someone to talk to or walk home with."

My voice is low, like a growl and I hit him again. "Will you stop patronizing me and treating me like a girl? I am not going to break because my shrink got pushy."

He actually has to grab my wrists as I keep hitting and poking at him. I'm not exactly sure what's gotten into me, but it feels so _good_ to hit someone, even if that person is Peeta. I'm sure I will feel bad about it later.

"I have an idea. You have your student ID, right?" When I nod, he just says, "Come on."

He drags me by the wrist the two blocks to the Lyons Center. I've yet to see the inside of it, seeing as how I like to view actual scenery when I run rather than dress like a gym bunny in tiny color-coordinated spandex outfits. As he slaps our IDs on the desk and pulls me into the facility, I can't help but be amazed at all the perfectly made up girls who are sweating as they try to pick up next year's first round NFL draft pick while they work out.

Only in L.A., I guess.

He's putting some sort of hat on me while I ruminate on what it would take to get me to use the treadmills here with the beautiful people. I finally decide that it would be a solid week of rain. Good thing it never rains in Southern California, right?

Peeta faces me, finally, wearing the same head protection as I have on. I get a chance to look around and realize we're on a wrestling mat – I vaguely remember them from high school – in a room by ourselves. Peeta wants to wrestle me? He's got to be kidding. With the mood I'm in, I'm pretty sure I could rip the head off the poor kid. In the "fuck it, friend it, kill it" categories that Finn had joked about, I'm only interested in one activity today and it draws blood.

He motions to me in a way reminiscent of _The Matrix._ "Come on, Jo. You didn't want to talk, so let's do this."

"Oh, Brainless, I don't think you can handle me when I'm angry." I narrow my eyes and circle him.

He follows me, making sure I'm never behind him and laughs. "Who are you, Bruce Banner? Come on, _little girl_. I'm pretty sure I can take whatever _you_ dish out."

I see red. "Did you just call me a little girl? You won't hit me. You're too much of a gentleman." I reach out and smack him in the ass then dance away gleefully.

Peeta paces me again, watchful. "I did. And it's not even going to bother me to suspend my manners for now."

"No mercy?"

He nods. "No mercy."

I dance toward him, but this time he's ready. Somehow he trips me and I end up flat on my back, all the air knocked out of me. I lay there wondering how I ended up looking at the ceiling as I try to suck air into my lungs.

 _He's going down._ I get to my feet and narrow my eyes analyzing my advantages and disadvantages: I'm faster than he is, but his reach is slightly longer and he outweighs me by seventy five pounds. I'm looking for the best way to inflict the most damage when I realize I already know my next move.

I let him goad me into coming closer. When he cuffs me on the shoulder, I lean into it and tense so the contact has a nice resounding thud. I drop my other shoulder and cup the one he just hit, sniffling loudly.

He continues to circle me. Dammit, I'm going to have to work harder to draw him in.

I continue to cup my fake injury and show just the right touch of fear on my face. I know it's working when his narrowed blue eyes widen with just a touch of concern. When he reaches in for another hit, I'm ready – both hands push his chest as my leg sweeps one of his forward and he crashes to the mat.

I smile in a feral grin. "How does it feel to get knocked on your ass by a girl, Brainless?"

"You're going down, Jo." Peeta rises with a look of grim determination and I wonder if I might have misjudged him.

I shake it off and rush him, head angled towards his midsection. He deflects me easily to one side with a swipe to the head and I'm suddenly thankful for the protective gear. I use the momentum he's produced to turn around and punch him with my left hand. My knuckles throb like I just hit a brick wall and I wonder if he has body armor on under his shirt; it's not like I get into a lot of fights, but he just seems so – solid.

I throw the next punch with my right hand at his stomach, but he blocks and shoves me backward. I stumble as he trips me so that I'm staring straight at the mat.

"Had enough, Jo?" Peeta, only now starting to breathe heavily, offers me his hand and I use the leverage to launch myself furiously at him. I pound his shoulders, get one more good stomach punch in, and rake my short nails down the unprotected part of his face.

"Ouch! Dammit, Jo!" Peeta cuffs my padded headgear like a cat playing with a ball. It's enough to push me away as he gingerly feels the scrapes on his face. "I take it that means no."

My chest rises and falls and I feel like I can't catch my breath. "Are you…Are you mocking me?" I go after him again and he sidesteps, grabbing me in a hold that grinds my earrings between my headgear and my ears. I struggle and somehow catch his elbow with my eye, which immediately starts to water.

Good. Let him think I'm crying.

He pushes me off of him hard enough that I smack against the padded wall. I bounce back, picking up speed and yelling as my fist flies at his face. I catch him higher than I intend and his eye starts to water as I suck in my breath from the fire in my knuckles. He hisses and grabs the side of his face. I use the fact that his right side is now exposed to try for a punch but he jerks his arm down protectively and his elbow collides with my wrist.

We spring apart. He rubs his eye as I wipe the tears from mine.

"Are we done?" he asks.

I snarl. "Hardly."

-o-  
We both lie on the mat nursing our injuries; my eye throbs, the knuckles of both hands are swollen, and I'm sure I'll be limping in a little bit from the giant bruise forming on my shin. Peeta doesn't look much better with his swollen eye, scratches down the side of his face, and ripped t-shirt. I'm not even sure how that last part happened, but I'm not sorry. I feel like jelly: I could stay on this mat and not move for a year.

"I want a rematch," I complain, rubbing my wrist and wishing for an ice pack.

"Maybe in a year or two when you calm down. You know it's your lack of patience that eventually let me pin you, right? Well, that and a second at the state wrestling championship." Peeta sounds smug.

I grumble. "Yeah. And the fact that you outweigh me by half my body weight."

"You needed it." Peeta sounds so logical. I wonder if that's a special gift – to always be able to look at every situation calmly. I have to admit I'm a little envious.

"Thanks. How'd you know?"

"I'm youngest of three boys, remember? This is how the Mellark boys regularly get out frustrations; I'm not even talking about my mom this time." Peeta quips.

I chuckle a little. "I don't get how you can do that – joke about her."

Peeta shrugs. "I guess it's laugh or cry and I'm tired of crying. How about you, Jo? Want to tell me about your sister?"

I'm too tired for snarkiness or even anger and it dawns on me again that those Mellark boys deserve more credit than they probably get. I'm so wiped out that it's too much work to raise my middle finger and flip him off. I'm not sure what I'm expected when I open my mouth, but it's not what comes out.

"She would have been ten in August." I close my eyes, opening the mental door to the room I keep locked with memories of her inside. "She hated having her hair brushed and always smelled like green apple detangler. She liked to follow me everywhere and was especially fond of rainbow sprinkles." I smile for a second, lost in the memory of her smile the few times after I got my license when I took her for ice cream and to the marina to watch the boats. Or when she would dress us both up like Disney princesses and we would watch movies when Mom and Dad went out and the boys played video games. I still remember all of the songs –

Peeta asks quietly, "What happened?"

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. "She wanted to go swimming. Mom and Dad had gone out. It's not like I hadn't watched all of the kids before, but the boys wanted to play video games and Carys wanted to go in the pool. It's hard enough to supervise them all when they want to do stuff together, but it's almost impossible when they're scattered all over the house. So I told her to play upstairs. I needed to make lunch and she was always underfoot. Finn was coming over later and I told her we would go in the pool then but she argued with me. Told me she hated me because I wouldn't let her have her way. When lunch was ready, I couldn't find her. I was so annoyed at her for arguing with me and then hiding and the boys didn't know where she was, either.

"The back door was open and she must have snuck out when I was making sandwiches. She was underwater. I could see her bright pink, brand new Disney swimsuit through the water and I was still mad, furious, really, that she disobeyed me. I dove in when I realized she wasn't moving but I still thought it was a game. I clearly remember thinking _I'm going to kill her for this_."

I pause, mind racing through the events of that day and afterward. "I didn't speak to Finn for half of our junior year, thinking that, if only he had been there earlier, maybe he could have saved her. I wanted it to be his fault. The truth is that it was mine. She just wanted to swim in her new bathing suit. I was her big sister and I should have made the time or kept her with me or done something with all of them that day."

It's quiet for a minute and I use the time to breathe in and out, deeply. I'm sure that's what Aurelius was looking for from me to today. I'm not sure how I feel that I just shared something so personal with Peeta, but then I remember the scar on his back.

"How do you feel?" He questions gently.

"Empty." I say. And it's true. I don't feel relieved; I don't feel any sort of release; I feel space in my soul, waiting to be filled up. I don't feel like I did right afterward, though, or even when I wasn't talking to Finn. This gap feels like it could be filled eventually, like the memory of that day will be eclipsed with other memories if I allow it. Do I want that to be the case? I'm afraid of losing her twice – the memory of her smile, her smell, her voice, all lost in the mundane memories that represent a life lived without her. The trouble is, I'm not sure how to keep the emptiness inside without it taking over my life.

"We should get going. It's late and I can't believe I've got a dinner to make after this. I think I'm fused to the mat." Peeta jokes even as he groans and gets up.

"I think I have some Advil in my room and maybe an icepack for that eye." I gesture to the swelling. "Sorry about that."

Peeta stretches his neck as he laughs. "No you're not; you're a bloodthirsty witch who would have slit my throat if there were weapons in here."

I laugh back. "You say the sweetest things, Peet."

-o-

We hobble back to my dorm room looking like something out of a zombie movie or _Fight Club_ and continue to rib each other.

"I'm serious, man. I want a rematch," I say as we stop to rest.

Peeta laughs. " _I_ cheated? That's rich. You pretended you were a weakling to get me to go easy on you!"

I can't help but grin at him wolfishly. "Hey, it worked, didn't it? You're more bloodthirsty than I would have guessed."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Peeta shakes his head at me.

We see Madge at the same time and both wave to her. She waves back until she sees us up close.

She's shocked. "What happened to you guys? Were you in a fight?"

Peeta blushes a little and it almost matches the color of the three scrapes that run from temple to jaw. Almost.

He mumbles. "You could say that."

Madge turns to me, a question in her eyes. I shrug it off and ask, "You want to walk over to the frat house together? We're just heading to my room to see if we can get some Advil for Peeta-the-Pussy over here."

She nods. "Yeah. That sounds good."

We walk up the stairs and I swear I can feel every single muscle in my legs protesting. This isn't the same pain as I get when I run too far; this pain feels like the creature from _Aliens_ dripped acid-for-blood on my joints. From his grimace and death grip on the railing, I can tell that Peeta is feeling the same.

What I wouldn't give for a hot tub.

Madge is babbling on about an idea she had to do something nice and "give back" to our dorm. Give back? Wouldn't that mean that I would have had to get something from living here in the first place? Oh, wait. I did get something: his name was Brian.

"I think we should make Christmas ornaments for everyone," She says, perfectly coiffed, blonde curls bobbing as we walk. "I talked to Andrea down the hall. She's the sort of bohemian girl who wears those skirts with the bells on the bottom? Anyway, she has a ton of yarn and she said she would show us how to make these little stockings – "

"Hold it." I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. Peeta looks at me gratefully for stopping as he comes to stand next to us on the landing. "Did you just say _Andrea_? From down the hall?"

Madge nods, all blue-eyed innocence and I wonder if she could possibly be planning something subversive, like an intervention on behalf of one Finnick Odair and his girl-crush.

I assess her for a minute as I catch my breath, thankful that I live on the second floor and not the third. I don't even want to think about the long walk to the frat house right now, so I focus on Madge and her sudden interest in our floor-mate. "You know who that is, right?"

She shakes her head, but I'm pretty sure I see a knowing gleam in her eyes, the little minx. She's done her own recon and is intent on playing matchmaker. I'm all for getting to know Annie and assess her for myself, so I nod thoughtfully before pushing through the mostly closed door of our room.

"That sounds like a great id—"

I don't finish my thought as I stop dead in my tracks and stare, unsure if I sustained a head injury earlier. I know that isn't the case when Madge and Peeta barrel into me. I forget about dinner at the frat, my muscle soreness, Finn and Annie and Christmas and little stockings and how crafty Madge can be, and how nice it was to unload on Peeta…

A single thought tears through me like an arrow through the heart: _get Madge and Peeta out of here before they see,_ because what's happening in front of us will rip them apart. I know I'm already too late when I hear a sound like Peeta choking on his tongue before his unmistakable footfalls barrel out of my room.

Because there's no way to mistake the proximity of Katniss and Gale, even if we hadn't walked in on them kissing.


	19. Fallout

Madge mumbles some excuse to high-tail it out of the room. I let her go, since I've got an ax to grind with Katniss and there's no way I want Madge or Peeta hearing it.

I put my hands on my hips in the traditional kick-ass warrior pose. "What the fuck is going on!?"

Gale levels his gaze at me and opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "Not from you, Hawthorne. I don't want to hear from you. Katniss?"

"Gale, you should go." She looks around the room, obviously avoiding his gaze when she says it. I wonder for a second if I've misjudged the whole thing but she follows it with a side glance at him. "I'll see you at the frat and we'll talk then."

"But Catnip –'

She stares at him pointedly but I notice her eyes skitter away first. Like she's not completely comfortable. "Later."

I wait until he leaves before pouncing. "Seriously? _Gale_? What are you thinking?

"Jo, what the hell happened to you?"

"Don't change the subject." But I walk to my dresser and pop a couple of Advil. Now that the shock has worn off, I'm back to feeling like death warmed over. I vow that, when there's a rematch with Peeta, I'll train first. "What was that about?"

She sighs heavily and rubs her lips. "I don't exactly know: one minute we were talking about Christmas and the next he leaned in and kissed me."

"And you're okay with that? What about Peeta?"

"What about him? Jo, we're not dating or anything."

I blow a gasket. "You've spent the last month texting, giggling, and encouraging him. You don't think he has a right to be upset?" I never took Everdeen to be a tease, but she's sure acting like it and I tell her so.

I can tell I've hit a nerve when she crosses her arms over her chest and her jaw locks. Her tone is as sharp as knife. "No, Jo. He doesn't have the right to be upset. I never promised him anything, and sex isn't a transaction. He has no right to assume a claim on me because we've spent time together or he's put a lot of time into me. I don't owe him anything. I never _promised_ him _anything_. And fuck you for thinking I'm a tease."

I balk at the thought that she might consider Peeta a pity fuck. "It's not like I think he's due a certain amount of pussy-pounds for every minute that he's invested in your relationship, not even for a guy as nice as Peeta –"

"No. Shut up for a minute and let me talk. Why is it okay for you to jump anything that moves, but it's not okay for me to kiss someone besides Peeta? _Gale kissed me._ I'm not sure why he did it and I'm not sure how I feel. But the last thing I need to do is defend myself to someone whose longest running relationship is with her vibrator."

That comment is a direct hit and it stings as much as my new bruises. The only thing I can think of as a comeback is, "You're a piece of work, you know that? What about Madge?"

"What about her?"

I stare dumbfounded at Katniss and wonder how anyone can be that fucking clueless. "You really don't know?" I frown as Finn's ringtone interrupts us: he had better have a stellar reason for calling right now.

"Alexander Ludwig better be at the pool naked." I bark into the phone.

Finn laughs and then says quietly, "Jo, someone want to tell me what is going on? I show up for Tuesday night dinner and Peeta's not only _not_ cooking, he looks like he just watched _Old Yeller_."

"We had a little situation." Katniss is staring daggers at me and I'm wondering how much to say. After all, I'm still not sure exactly what happened.

"Gee, you think? He looks to be one step away from singing along with Celine Dion. What happened?"

"It was a Pacey, Joey, Dawson moment involving Katniss." I know Katniss won't get the reference, but Finn understands my obsession with reruns of _Dawson's Creek._ Something about Joshua Jackson's blue eyes make me go all weak-kneed.

"You mean an Edward, Bella, Jacob setup? With who? Wait. Not freaking _Gale._ " When I confirm it, Finn whistles and asks, "So, honey, what's for dinner?" I can almost hear the mental shrug he's just given and roll my eyes at Finn's ability to get past all drama in search of fulfilling basic human needs. Which, for Finn, are food, sunscreen, shaving, and sex.

I look over at Katniss, who has taken a seat at her desk, picked up a book and is reading as if her world didn't just take a 180 degree turn. My spine locks with resolve as I watch her stare at the pages. Tuesday's are tradition and I am not going to let her and Gale wreck tradition. "Not sure. Look, Finn, did you drive to the frat house?"

"Yeah."

"Come and get me. I'll tell you the menu while we pick up supplies." I hang up with Finn and walk over to Katniss, who seems to be ignoring me. I stand there for a few seconds until it sinks it that she really is going to ignore me forever. Finally, I put a hand on her book and say quietly, "I'm going to the frat for dinner. I'm not sure if you're up to having a conversation with Peeta, but he's not in a good place. I get that you don't owe him anything, I do. But you hurt him, Katniss. You really hurt him. If you care about him at all, I highly recommend you get your ass over there and fix this."

"How?" She looks up at me and croaks. That one word, more than anything else she's said, tells me how hopeless she feels about this and, for the first time all afternoon, I let myself picture how lost and confused she must feel.

"Talk to him, for starters."

As I get my stuff ready to wait for Finn downstairs, Katniss stops me. "Jo, do you think he'll listen?"

I stop and consider how the normally mild-mannered Peeta might react to an apology. If I hadn't seen how easily he put words aside today, I might think she has a shot. But words aren't Katniss Everdeen's weapon of choice and today Peeta was in the mood for action, not words.

"I'm not sure the odds are in your favor, but it's a place to start."

-o—

Peeta is sitting at the table in the dark, three beers into a six pack. He has the empties lined up like sentries on his left while he draws pictures with the condensation on the table. His weepy, puppy-dog eyes aren't helping the aura of injured dejectedness that hovers about him. His swollen eye and long, angry, red scratches make his face look like hell. I wonder if he's put Neosporin on them yet, or taken an aspirin for the swelling.

"Drinking alone, Brainless?" I carry a couple of bags into the kitchen, followed by Madge and Finn who carry their own payloads. I motion for them to put their stuff on the table.

Peeta slurs a little, "Come to finish the job, Jo?" He thumps a fist over his heart and points to the knife block. "Knives are over there."

I muss his hair. "Nah. We've come to save you, not kill you. We're your buds, remember?" I gauge his reaction by dropping three tubes of Pillsbury crescent rolls on the table in front of him. I know he is in serious trouble when he doesn't even flinch. Peeta mumbles what sounds like a bunch of synonyms for buddy: friend, ally, consort, homey, confidant and mate all cross his lips.

Madge, who had looked about as happy as Katniss when I knocked on her door and asked her to come to the frat house tonight, tosses her hair, snags a beer and heads out back. Finn winks at me before grabbing his own beer and following. I am sure he is no doubt intent on offering himself as a consolation prize.

 _Great._ Looks like I'm on cooking duty alone tonight. I uncharitably hope that Madge shuts his moves down fast so I can at least get some help chopping and mixing.

I keep talking to Peeta. "I wasn't sure what we were having for dinner, so I thought I would cook tonight. I'm not much of a gourmet chef and apologize in advance for it not being up to your usual efforts. At least it will be filling, though." When he doesn't answer, I place OREOS in a gallon sized baggie and proceed to violently bash them with a rolling pin. My bruised knuckles sing with pain, but I need OREO crumbs and the store didn't have any. All the while, I continue a steady stream of talk. I fill Peeta in on my classes, my running, even my earlier visits to Dr. A, just trying to hit a topic that gets a rise out of him.

"Peet, man, you sick?" Brue walks in the room holding his shirt in his hand, jeans highlighting the magic "v". The rolling pin pauses midair before cracking down on the table and I forget all about the pain in my hands. Hell, I almost forget to breathe as I ogle his tanned abs. My eyes snap back to his face and I silently pray that he didn't catch my stare.

"Hey, Jo. What's up with Peet?" Brue pulls on his shirt and motions to the silent form of Peeta, who is drinking more beer and hunched over the table.

I shrug. "He's a little under the weather, so I'm cooking tonight." When Brue cocks an eyebrow, I add defensively, "I can cook, you know."

"Oh? Well, a woman of many talents, then."

"Fuck you, Brue." I smash more OREOS for emphasis. "If you're going to be a prick, at least make yourself useful and slice up that onion and chop up the bacon while I finish this."

Brue puts on an apron and then obediently begins chopping. I melt butter and add it to the OREO crumbs to make a crust, pressing it into one of the frat house's endless supply of Pyrex 9x13 pans. I dump three large cans of cherry pie filling on top and put the pan in the fridge, then wash my hands.

"Bring those onions over here when you're done slicing them." I tell Brue, then ask the room at large, "Do you know what the first ingredient in Crescent Roll Happiness is?"

Brue pops his head over my shoulder as he dumps the onions into the two frying pans full of browning ground beef. "Crescent Rolls?"

I smirk at him and waggle the spatula in his direction like a club. "No, silly. The first ingredient is happiness. It's not only the first ingredient, it's the most necessary. We're supposed to only be thinking happy thoughts when we make a meal like this."

Brue walks to the table and pulls three cans of roasted green chilis, three cans of Campbell's Nacho Cheese soup, a jar of Emeril's Cajun Essence, a pound of bacon and three large orders of Aliberto's French fries out of the paper bags piled there. "What the hell are we getting ready to eat? Peet, man, back me up. There is like zero nutrition in this meal." He may say that, but I notice that Brue still opens the pound of bacon eagerly and begins chopping.

"This meal is not for the metabolically challenged. Now, think happy thoughts. We're paying Peeta back for all the memories he's given us this past semester." I chastise, wagging the spatula again.

I can't be sure, but I think Brue mumbles, "Yeah, by clogging his arteries."

I'm just about to hurl an insult back at him when I hear Peeta say softly, "That's what started Tuesday dinners."

I lean in close to the table. "What, Peeta?"

His eyes look very far away, like he's not even seeing me. "I took my worst memories from home – meals that my mom made – and tried to replace them with new ones. Good ones. You could gauge my mom's mood by our dinners. If it took a lot of work, you could almost guarantee that one of us was in trouble. Sometimes we wouldn't even get through the whole meal before she picked a fight." He gives a huge, shuddering sigh. "I thought I was fixing all of that and making good progress."

My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I consider what he's said. Peeta's meals have always seemed thought out in advance. It turns out that's because they are. Some of them took a tremendous amount of work and I have to wonder what happened to warrant those specific meals as candidates. Exactly how does someone pick the worst experiences of his life?

That's when I notice that I was wrong: Peeta isn't looking inside himself with his faraway stare. No, Peeta is looking out the back window to where Katniss is arguing viciously with Gale. The look on his face, the hurt, is as palpable as watching a boxer's face before a knock out. And he's not the only one watching the scene unfold, either. I spy Madge leaning on Finnick but staring daggers of her own in Gale's direction. Add Katniss to the equation –her eyes alone look like they could shoot fire – and I almost feel sorry for Gale. _Almost._

Peeta stands. With his eyes still trained on the dramatic tableau outside, he says, "I'm going to go lie down."

Brue has the decency to wait until he is out of earshot. " _Now_ will you tell me what is going on?"

I turn to him as he adds bacon to the frying pans of browning ground beef. "Don't you frat guys have some sort of 'bro code'?"

He nods, clearly perplexed. "Yeah, 'bro's before ho's'. Why?"

I stir the sizzling mess in the pan. "Because Gale kissed Katniss, that's why."

He reacts exactly the same as Finn did – he lets out a long, low whistle. When I point the greasy spatula at him, he throws his hands up in supplication. "Hey, don't take it out on me. I've never moved in on someone else's girlfriend." He watches me stir for a minute, then quips, "Well, this Bella, Jacob, and Edward moment must really screw up your plan."

Did everyone see that fucking movie?

I scowl at him and continue stirring, very conscious of his nearness.

He props a hip against the counter and I try again not to stare at his lean hips perfectly encased in jeans while he assesses me from head to toe. "Is that why you and Peeta look like hell?"

Well, fuck. I almost forgot about my therapy session and the wailing I dealt Peeta afterward. Okay, okay, maybe we wailed on each other. And that makes me feel even worse about the pain Peeta's in right now, like he got screwed twice for just trying to be a good guy. It makes me want to go outside and kick Gale in the shins and scream at him: _Why her? Why now?_ I stare at a frying pan, not even sure what to tell Brue.

Finally, I just say, "Peeta was giving me a wrestling lesson." It's pretty much true, and Brue doesn't have to know that it was as much therapy as my session with Dr. A. I gesture for him to open the chilies and dump them in the pans.

He gapes, "You're not even going to drain the fat off that meat?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Crescent. Roll. Happiness. Just dump them in and trust me."

We tip the rest of the ingredients into the frying pans and mix, then pour into Pyrex dishes and top with a sheet of crescent rolls for each pan. I slide them into the oven as Brue looks on skeptically.

"Where's Peeta?" Katniss asks as she comes back inside. She's out of breath and flushed. I notice that Gale does not follow her, even though Finn and Madge do. _Good. Let him brood out there in his own dark stink._

"He saw the monstrosity that Jo is making for dinner and I think it made him sick: he went upstairs." Brue winks as he passes by to set the table, grabbing my hips for balance when he accidently bumps me. The jolt of heat his fingers send to me core is as surprising as his wink.

I tease him, "You can hate on it now, but you're gonna love it."

Finn is watching the two of us with an eyebrow raised and I realize how much our conversation sounds like foreplay. I frown and shake my head at Finn because that's not how I meant it at all.

Katniss's lips thin out in a determined line. "I'm going to go get him."

"Katniss, are you sure that's a good idea?" Madge looks at her with wide eyes. I figure that, if anyone understands how Peeta's feeling, it would be her.

Katniss swallows hard and nods.

-o—

Twenty minutes later, I'm dishing out casserole but Katniss and Peeta are still upstairs. Gale has joined us, though, and it's tense in the room even without them. I debate serving portions for them anyway because Crescent Roll Happiness doesn't really reheat well when I hear Peeta's heavy footfalls coming down the stairs. He's tight lipped and has his arms crossed in front of him, like he's down here under protest, but it solves my problem so I 'm happy.

The group puts Katniss and Gale across from each other and as far from Peeta and Madge as we can. It's funny, really, because we didn't even discuss where everyone would sit but have sort of fallen into an adjustment of our usual places. We take our seats as Brue pours water for everyone but Peeta, who is still knocking back beers from the endless supply in the fridge.

I doubt he'll even taste the crescent rolls if he keeps drinking at this rate. At least we'll all be able to pay him back for all those nights he took care of us when we were drunk, though.

Finn clears his throat after everyone has taken their first bite of the salty, cheesy, potato-y goodness that is my version of bacon-chili-cheeseburger-Cajun fries with crescent roll topping. "Everyone, I have an announcement. It's something sensitive…and I need your support."

My stomach drops almost immediately with the possibilities. It could be anything coming from Finnick Odair: something with his dad, pregnancy, STD, cancer, school transfer, hang nail.

He bows his head, cheeks flushed. "That girl I met? Karen?"

_Oh, fuck. Oh fuck –_

He puts his trembling hand to his forehead. "We hooked up. And it was great, really nice; she's got a surprisingly smart head on her shoulders. Really easy to talk to, too –"

"Finn, get to the point." Brue's dark sapphire eyes are trained on Finn and I realize that I'm not the only one panicked by Finn's demeanor.

"I couldn't…I couldn't…you know." Finn stares at his plate, fiddling with his French fries.

Madge doesn't catch on. "Couldn't what?"

Finn's green eyes are stormy when he says, "I couldn't close the deal."

There's a moment of silence and I feel my shoulders relax immediately: impotent Finn I can handle.

"You mean, like, have sex?" Katniss asks. I notice with glee that she's plowing through her meal. _Take that, Brue._

"Yeah, Finn, there's nothing to be ashamed of there. I'm sure there's a medical reason." Madge nods, agreeing with Katniss.

"God. Do you guys think – I got an erection just fine. I couldn't _finish._ " He looks aghast as he realizes what we all imagined.

"So what happened?" Brue smirks down the table at Finn.

"Well, we were talking and I pulled some patented Odair moves on her. She couldn't resist _as usual_ , and I moved in. She was blowing me and I was totally into it – "

"Wait a second. Wasn't Karen the sort of curvy one? The braniac line dancer?" I interrupt, as I try to place the girl.

"Oh, Jo, chubby chicks give the best head." Gale says. Finn nods and even Brue agrees. I'm pretty sure Katniss and I wear the same horrified expression. Since when is "curvy" the equivalent of "chubby"?

Peeta chimes in, "Yeah, Delly gives great head."

I don't know who Delly is, but Katniss's reaction is immediate. I'm thankful that Peeta is most of the table away from her, or he would be dead. "Delly gave you a blowjob?"

Gale ignores Katniss and nods at Peeta. "Yeah, I've heard that too. She's a master cocksucker, bro."

Katniss's face goes tomato red as she rises from her seat and practically shouts at Peeta, "Delly, gave you a blow job?"

Peeta looks oddly pleased, like he's enjoying the verbal sparring match as much as our time on the mat earlier. He gives her a crooked grin. "So what if she did? You kissed Gale."

Gale stares at Peeta and laughs then swings his eyes back to Katniss. "Yeah, Catnip. You kissed me. So what if Peeta got his cookie sheet greased by Delly?"

That's when I realize that, as much as the boys may hate each other right now, they both hate Katniss more. They want to _hurt_ her. It makes sense for Peeta to feel that way, but Gale? What did she say to him outside that would have hurt him?

Katniss looks completely out of her element, eyes moving from Gale to Peeta. "But that was just a kiss."

Finn joins the fray and tries to be diplomatic. "A blowjob is _like_ a kiss, only with more tongue, saliva, and suction."

He does have a point.

"Seriously, though, can we please focus on me for a minute here? I'm having a crisis." He pushes his near-empty plate away, clearly giving himself more of a stage. "So she's going to town on me and it's superb, really. But nothing's happening, so I catalog what I had to drink. I'm not drunker than normal, so that can't be it. I figure maybe I need a little more friction or something, so I pull out a condom and ask if she's interested."

"Dude, she had your cock in her mouth. Of course she's interested."

"Gale, it's important to be a gentleman and ask before penetration. Anyway, she says yes. I'm pretending I have Justin Timberlake hips and really giving her a good ride, but nothing's happening. As good as it feels, my mind starts to wander and I know that's not good for _things._ I had to put a lot of effort into saying focused and nothing I thought of worked to get me there."

"Nothing? Scarlett Johansson is my go-to. Works every time." Brue pops a fry in his mouth.

Brue needs a go-to image? I open my mouth to tell him what a class act he is, having sex while picturing someone else, but get interrupted.

Madge looks like she is totally enjoying the awkwardness of the conversation. "So what did you do?"

Finn shrugs. "Nothing. She sort of tapped me on the shoulder eventually and said that she could tell I wasn't into it and was obviously _taken_. What does that even mean?"

"Aw, that was sweet." Madge claps her hands. "She saw that you're into another girl and stopped you."

"Finn, that's like a sport-fucking party foul. Poor Karen."

"I know, Jo. I know." He shakes his head mournfully.

"So how did you handle it?" I'm curious: this is so far outside of what I know that I'm not even sure I know what I would have done. Actually, I probably would have faked it and then gone home.

"Well, the Mellark bible says that you should always take care of the lady. So, I went down on her until I was sure she had come. You know, sort of thanking her for all of the effort, making sure I practiced good customer service. Peet, man, that book is genius, by the way." Finn nods at Peet who quirks a crooked, drunken smile his way.

"When we were done, we got dressed and she kissed me gently. She told me to go find the girl who held my heart. I think my sport-fucking days are over, Jo." Finn turns teary eyes toward me. "I think I'm a goner."

"Well, I think it's sweet. We just need to get you and Annie together." Madge says matter-of-factly.

Finn turns his green eyes in her direction. "Madge, what if it doesn't work? What if it wasn't a fluke? I think I need therapy. Maybe you could help me out? You know, since we're friends?"

Madge's eyes ignite with the fire I saw while she was outside looking at Gale. She flips her hair and giggles. "Oh, Finn. I'm really flattered –"

Gale's eyes narrow slightly. _Oh, no, buster. You don't get to kiss Katniss and then get territorial over Madge._ I decide that Madge needs a little pick-me-up compliment. "Dude, if anyone can turn your pumpkin back into a carriage, it's Madge." I send her a grin and she shoots me an impish smile in return. Yeah, she knows exactly what I'm up to.

"Although I would love the chance to, um, whip you into shape, I really think we should see what happens with Annie. True love could cure you." Madge says gently.

"But –"Finn has the mournful eyes of a basset hound.

Madge laughs. "How about this: if we get you two together and it still doesn't work, then I'll stage a personal and private intervention. Just the two of us?"

I don't miss Gale's frown and neither does Madge. Finn grins at her, though, and so do I.

"Who wants dessert?" I ask, as Brue collects plates and puts them in the sink.

"I just want to get drunk." Peeta gets up and stumbles to the fridge but Finn intercepts him before he can get there.

"Peeta, man, why don't you slow down?" Finn asks.

"No. No, I'm not gonna. I've had a helluva day today: therapy, got my ass kicked by a girl – no offense, Jo –got my heart stomped by another one – don't care if you take offense, Katniss – and am getting ready to go back home to a woman who will do both probably every day. So I'm gonna get totally shit-faced drunk." He grabs another six pack, Michelob Light this time, and staggers upstairs.

Finn looks at me and I shrug: I'm not Peeta's keeper and maybe getting ripped will help him deal with things. Although crescent rolls and Michelob Light mean his standards have dropped so far that he's probably only a few minutes away from watching fake-porn on Cinemax before passing out.

Katniss moves to follow him, but I grab her. "Where are you going?"

"To find out about Delly." She rips her arm from mine and bolts after him.

I call after her, "I'll save you some dessert." As fucked up as the day has been, there've been casualties on both sides.

Besides, if it's 'bro's before ho's', then I need to remind myself that it's 'chicks before dicks'.

-o—

"Who's Delly?" Madge and I are hanging out in my dorm room, ostensibly studying for finals next week. Really, we're waiting for Everdeen.

Madge looks up from her flashcards. "A girl from home. Her parents owned the shoe store next door to Mellark's Bakery." She looks down at her cards, carefully stacking each one on top of the last as she goes through the stack. It's maddening.

"So? Did she?"

Madge's eyes look violet as they meet mine. "Did she what?" Her brow furrows in annoyance, probably at me interrupting her.

"Did Delly blow Peeta?" I tap my toes on against the wall impatiently. How can Madge just _sit_ there?

Madge blinks and sighs, straightening her already perfectly aligned stack of cards. "I doubt it. Delly dated his older brother our last year of high school and Peeta doesn't seem like the sort of guy who would mess with his brother's girlfriend."

I make a noise of agreement. I have to admit, though, the whole day with Peeta – the physical fighting, the arguing with Katniss, the drunken anger – has me reassessing what he's capable of. I wonder if this a side of him that Katniss or Madge has seen before. "Peeta was pretty pissed today."

"Yeah. He has a right to be, though."

I consider the blonde beauty in front of me. To my knowledge, she hasn't even dated in the last few months. I shake my head at the thought of all that wasted time: if I looked like Madge, I would have a Facebook wait list and a Tumblr porn blog.

"What about you, Madge? Do you have a right to be angry?"

She sits quietly then gives a tiny shrug. "I'll get over it. It's not the first time Gale has broken my heart."

"Then why not get over _him_? Plenty of other fish in the sea." I'm genuinely curious about why she is so dedicated to a guy who is her exact opposite: where she is sweetness and light, he's dark and brooding. Sure, he's as hot as Zachary Quinto. But she's at least Dianna Agron hot herself.

Madge cocks her head to the side and quietly assesses me. "You like spicy food, right?" She waits for me my nod. "You know that feeling of intense heat that blossoms in your mouth, and you're not sure if you can get through it? Then you swallow and it's like a trail of heat all the way down to your stomach? That heat that lingers until all you want to do is take another bite?"

"Yeah." I'm not sure where she's going with this. I don't think Madge even eats spicy food.

"I'm in it for the fire. Sometimes it means I get burned, but I heal quickly. And I like the pain, I guess." She looks down shyly at the floor. "I have heat of my own, though. I don't think Gale is counting on that. And one of these days, he's going to end up raw and aching like I am. I'm going to love it when that happens."

She raises her eyes to mine and what I see there is actually a little scary: she's not shy, not at all. She's a phoenix whose heat shimmers below the placid surface of blue. I don't doubt for a minute that Gale Hawthorne has more than met his match.

Both of us look up as the door swings open.

"You guys waited for me?" Katniss is guarded and her eyes look oddly damp.

"Yeah, brainless. We wanted to make sure you got home okay. Right, Madge?"

Madge nods, all traces of fire gone from her face. She is back to being the perfect definition of cool.

Katniss's eyes fill with more tears and she blinks rapidly. "I just didn't – I wasn't sure if you guys were even speaking to me after today. It seems like everyone is mad at _me_. _"_

Madge crosses the floor and hugs her, ever the diplomat. "Katniss, it's okay. We were just so _surprised_ today –"

_Yeah, especially when we found Gale's tongue in your mouth._

"—But we're over it now. Johanna and I are here for you." Madge rubs her arm and simultaneously pulls her into the room.

Katniss sniffs. "Thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do if you both stopped speaking to me."

"Anyone want a Chai tea latte?" I can't handle all the girly support that's happening in my room right now, so I cross to the electric kettle that magically made an appearance after Thanksgiving. I have no idea why Katniss spent her hard-earned money on it, but I'm learning to love it.

No one answers so I make three, handing them to Katniss and Madge where they sit on Katniss's bed. Madge is rubbing Katniss's back and Katniss is trying not to cry. I know the feeling all too well because I was in the same state this afternoon before Peeta let me have a different kind of outlet.

I'm guessing he didn't do the same for Katniss.

"He said he didn't want to talk to me and that just makes me so mad! Who does he think he is? It's not like he's the only one who's freaked out by what happened! I never thought I would see Peeta Mellark – God's gift to oration – ever refuse to talk through something! He's supposed to be the calm and rational one!" She takes a deep, hiccupping breath. "What do I do to fix this, Madge?"

I think she knows enough not to ask me: I already pointed her in Peeta's direction and that _obviously_ did not help.

Madge takes sip of her tea. "You want to fix this with Peeta?"

Katniss nods.

Madge puts her cup down and takes Katniss's hands in hers. "If you put the effort in, you're not just agreeing to friendship. You know that, right? There will be no friend zoning him this time around. Are you ready for that? Because that implies that you finally make up your mind about Gale, too."

Katniss frowns. "But there's never been anything with Gale."

Madge shakes her head and laughs drily. "I think you need to finally accept that isn't true. I mean it: if you lead Peeta on again, you will crush him. You have no idea the effect you have. You have to decide if you want a relationship with him or with Gale. It's not just about the amount of work it's going to take, it's about making yourself vulnerable. This is going to be about intimacy and letting whomever you choose see the real you. Think about it. Take your time. The time will help Peeta get over it, anyway."

"But Christmas break is coming – "

"That might not be such a bad thing. Perhaps a little distance and space will help make things clearer." Madge pats Katniss's hand as she sips her latte.

Holy shit! Madge is fucking Yoda.

I sip my own latte and watch Madge masterfully guide Katniss through her brokenhearted rant. I'm a little envious of Madge's skills, but secure in the knowledge that I didn't even feel as badly as Katniss looks right after my breakup with Brian. My own advice would be crap, presumably because I've never felt this level of heartache.

I guess that means my own heart is safe, right?


	20. Wrath: An Outtake

Katniss smells oranges just before she feels Gale's lips touch hers. _Oranges, how strange,_ she thinks. Is she supposed to close her eyes? She wants to pull away when his tongue touches hers, but this is _Gale_ and she doesn't want to hurt him. Because then he would give her the silent treatment and she would lose him, just like she had after that conversation at the end of summer when he had briefly broached the topic of them dating once they got to school.

She had been able to put him off by saying that she was coming to USC to study, not date, and that there would be plenty of time for that later. He had been watching her face in the light of the fat full moon and she knew, _she knew,_ that he understood what she was really saying when she explained how important it was that he be there for her, always. Katniss couldn't afford to lose her best friend, not even to risk becoming _more_ with him, no matter how badly he seemed to want it.

Gale did not take rejection well and Katniss had lost him for months, until Johanna had dragged her to that frat party where she had bumped into him and Peeta.

He shifts closer, slanting his mouth against hers to deepen the kiss. Katniss recoils slightly, unable to hide her discomfort: she isn't used to kissing _anyone_. In fact, the only person she recalls being physically comfortable with (besides Prim, of course), is Peeta. And Gale is _nothing_ like Peeta. She moves a hand to his chest in the event that he tries once more to deepen the kiss. Whatever Gale thinks, she is not ready for more of that. Now that she is used to his lips moving against hers, has acclimated to the wetness and taste, she admits that it's nice. Comforting. As long as he doesn't try to take it further, she might enjoy—

Katniss hears the door open as loudly as she hears her own breath but it still takes her a moment to translate the sound into a push on Gale's chest. By the time she pushes a second time, hard enough that he feels it and pulls away, damage has been done. Jo doesn't walk into their dorm room by herself, but is trailed by Peeta and Madge.

Peeta's mouth gapes open for a split second before it snaps shut and he limps his way out of the room. Madge doesn't look much better. She is pale and her mouth is a thin line below glittering eyes that show…anger? Shock? Whatever it is, and Katniss is horrible at reading people, she knows that no level of comfort with Gale's kiss is worth this sort of fallout.

These girls, these _people_ matter to her.

 _It was a mistake,_ she thinks, as she shoos Gale out of the room so Jo can yell at her or throw things or hack her to tiny bits with her pen-knife. Katniss wouldn't put any of those things past Johanna, what with the way she is bruised and battered and sweaty. She looks like she just got mugged.

"What about Peeta?" Johanna asks after Gale has left and they are alone.

Katniss doesn't have an answer to that. The way she feels about Peeta is so new, so out-of-the-ordinary that she lashes out in anger. "He doesn't have the right to be upset. I never promised him anything, and sex isn't a transaction. He has no right to assume a claim on me because we've spent time together or he's put a lot of time into me. I don't owe him anything. I never _promised_ him _anything_."

Jo tries to backpedal once she sees how angry Katniss is, but Katniss continues, "Shut up for a minute and let me talk. Why is it okay for you to jump anything that moves, but it's not okay for me to kiss someone besides Peeta? _Gale kissed me._ I'm not sure why he did it and I'm not sure how I feel. But the last thing I need to do is defend myself to someone whose longest running relationship is with her vibrator."

Joe winces at that last comment and gives back as good as she's gotten, "You're a piece of work, you know that? What about Madge?"

Katniss closes her eyes, wanting to forget this afternoon ever happened. "What about her?"

When she opens her eyes to find Jo staring at her, she raises a brow. Everyone keeps intimating that Madge has some sort of secret. What is Jo trying to tell her? Surely it can't be something about Madge and Gale, or Madge would have said something to her. They were friends in high school, for God's sake! They used to sit together at lunch. Wouldn't she have shared a piece of information like that?

As Jo's phone rings, Katniss thinks about times when Gale and Madge have been together: at the frat house parties, Halloween, Tuesday dinners. Madge does have a way of looking at Gale. Katniss shakes her head, clearing the image of Madge staring doe-eyed at Gale over chocolate cake or beer pong. Or that strip poker night, when Gale had seemed incensed over Madge's state of undress –

Maybe there's something to Jo's allegation, after all.

-o—

Katniss corners Gale at the back of the frat. She knows Peeta must be inside because his bike is parked next to the house and she figures that she'll deal with him later. Gale is nursing a beer and does not seem surprised to see her.

Hey, Catnip." He says, like he did not change their entire friendship in the space of a few heartbeats.

She props herself up next to him on the cinder block wall, thankful that she won't have to face him for this conversation. "Hey."

"Want a beer?" He gestures to the keg that next to the grill that seems perpetually tapped.

She shakes her head fast enough that her braid thumps her shoulder. "No. I want you to tell me what this afternoon was about."

He shrugs. "It was a kiss."

"Yeah. I got that. Come on, Gale, you owe me some explanation."

He steals a glance at her. "You know, Katniss, did you ever think that maybe it hurts me that you don't think of us that way?"

"You mean, romantically?" She frowns. "You mean, you do? You think about it more than just today?"

He shakes his head. "You are the most clueless girl on the planet. Yes. That's why we had that conversation in August. I've wanted it for a while now and that's why I kissed you today."

Katniss sits quietly, processing that piece of information before hopping off her seat and rounding on him angrily. "That's bullshit."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a slow sip of beer from his red Solo cup. "No, it's not. God's honest truth, Katniss."

Her hands find her hips and fist there. "But you've run around with all kinds of other girls."

"What are we, in the 1950's? I haven't been running around: I've slept with a few other girls, yes. So? Sue me. I'm eighteen freaking years old, Katniss. What was I supposed to do? Pine for you, cold and alone, forever? I figured it was always gonna be us. You were just…taking your time. And those other women were interested. Hell, even Johanna was interested."

At Katniss's look of utter shock, he shakes his head. "You didn't know? She never told you?"

Katniss chokes out, "When?"

"That first night when the three of you came to the frat house. I don't remember a lot of it and I was still pretty hurt by our conversation from August. You weren't speaking to me – "

" _You_ weren't speaking to _me_!" Katniss yells.

Gale backpedals. "—We weren't speaking to _each other_. And then I saw you with Mellark and I just snapped, I guess."

Katniss stares at him for a moment. "You…you slept with my roommate to get back at me for _talking_ to Peeta?"

Gale looks at the inside of his cup thoughtfully. "I don't know why I did it. I was pretty drunk and she was there. I was so frustrated that you were giving him the time of day and you wouldn't even talk to me. It was supposed to be _us_ , Katniss. And then Mellark comes on the scene and finally grows a set and it's like I just ceased to exist."

Katniss hands clench and unclench at her side. "That's not true, Gale. You weren't speaking to me. What was I supposed to do? I don't want what you want! But that doesn't mean that I don't…that I don't love you. "Her voice breaks. "Or miss you."

Gale's smile is twisted and doesn't reach his eyes. "You love me, but you're not _in love_ with me, am I right?"

"What do you want me to say, Gale?" Katniss's voice is low. "I don't love you like that, no. But I don't want to lose you."

Gale hops off the cinder block wall, his beer finished. "I'm sorry to hear that, Katniss. Because this was my last try for you. When you're ready, I won't _be here_ waiting. Do you get that? You may not want to date or have sex or be in a relationship, but _I do_. I want a girl who is going to love me. Who can't wait to be seen with me. Who want me to wrap my arms around her and wants to sleep with me at night and thinks I'm funny and smart and handsome. I deserve that. So you say you don't want to be with me, but you also don't want to lose me? Make up your damn mind. Either way, it's not going to be the same as it was in high school."

Katniss stares at his retreating back.

-o—

Katniss is quiet through most of dinner, eating Johanna's bastardized version of bacon cheeseburger casserole. She has to hand it to Jo: for a girl who's never really wanted for anything, she can make a meal stretch. It's tasteless, though, and Katniss eats it to have something to do. Plus, she also doesn't want to irk Johanna any more than she has already today. She adds _obligation_ to her list of reasons to eat.

She almost chokes on her crescent roll casserole topping , though, when Peeta lets it slip that he has carnal knowledge of Delly Cartwright. Delly is a sweet girl from their hometown and Katniss is pretty sure that she dates Peeta's brother. She can't imagine Delly wrapped around Peeta and she finds that she doesn't want to: it does funny things to her stomach and makes her want to hit someone. She also can't imagine Peeta lying about something like that. Besides, if Jo is right about Madge liking Gale, and Gale isn't lying about he and Johanna doing the nasty, then maybe her intuition is completely mis-calibrated. Maybe Peeta and Delly did fool around. Heck, maybe they still have a thing going on behind Rye's back.

She pushes her plate away, no longer hungry.

So when Jo and Brue start dishing dessert and Peeta makes a snide comment about her breaking his heart, not to mention potentially getting beaten by his mother when he goes home for break, she's had it. She pulls her arm away from Johanna, who tries to stop her, and stomps up the stairs behind Peeta.

_He's probably so drunk and so loud that he can't hear me, anyway._

She forces her way past him when he tries to shut the door.

"Katniss, I'm really tired."

"Well, you look horrible." She motions to his face where he's holding an ice pack up to his eye.

He gives her twisted smile. "Inside and out: I feel horrible too. Why are you here?"

She fumbles for words and wipes her palms on her jeans. "May I sit?"

"If I say no, will you go away?" Peeta says. It's the rudest thing she's ever heard from his mouth.

She remains standing. "I just wanted to talk about today."

Peeta sighs. "Look, I get it. You and Gale are a thing and I overstepped my boundaries."

"We're not a _thing_."

"That's not what it looked like, Katniss."

"Peeta, Believe me, we're not together. "

"Why should I, Katniss? Why should I believe you?" His voice is hoarse. "Look, I was jealous of him before I ever officially met you. A couple of months ago, I finally get the chance to get to know you and a month ago we go out." He shrugs. "No big deal for you. I finally get to tell you how I feel, something I've kept bottled up inside, and you don't respond. I should have taken Finn's advice and asked for your permission to even _think_ something could happen between us. You and Gale, you make sense. You deserve one another."

Peeta's last statement hurts: she and Gale are not the same. She's not in love with one boy and going out with another just to pass the time.

"That's all hogwash, Peeta."

"Is it?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when a bit of beer dribbles out.

"Yes. Let me tell you something, Peeta Mellark. I told both you and Gale that I didn't want to date: Gale stopped speaking to me for two months. _Two months._ It probably would have been longer, but he slept with my roommate, which I just found out about tonight. Think about losing your best friend at the same time as you make your largest life change to date. How do you think that felt? Then, the boy who was the be-all, end-all in high school, the one who never, ever noticed me or spoke to me, becomes my friend. And one crazy night, that same boy says that he's cared about me for a long time. This boy who barely knows me but has always seemed genuinely nice to other people.

"What am I supposed to do with that? If this were a fairytale, I would be looking for a fairy godmother, I swear. But I'm not a princess in disguise, Peeta. I'm just me. And I've opened up to you in ways that I haven't open up to anyone but Prim, I swear. So please, please, don't shut me out. "

Peeta's blue eyes hold not a hint of pity or warmth. They simply look empty as they blink back at her. "That's really sad, Katniss. It is. I'm sorry that Gale stopped speaking to you, but I've got to be honest: the more time I spend with you, the more time I think I understand why Gale's a dick sometimes. I'm tired." Peeta slips off his shoes and socks and lies down on his bed facing away from her.

"Peeta—"

"Your pants are finished and on the desk. Grab them before you leave."

Katniss stops at Peeta's desk and picks up the jeans he's hand-painted for her. Fingering the orange and red hibiscus he's depicted on one front pocket, she says quietly, "You're really talented, Peeta. I'm sorry I never saw it before."

Peeta punches down a pillow and his angry blue eyes meet hers for a moment. "Yeah, well, you never saw a lot of things and now it's too late."

And with that, she's dismissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for PiP.


	21. Taking a Break

"Everyone, this is Andrea. She's going to teach us how to knit." Madge introduces a dark haired girl who has, quite possibly, the most arresting greenish eyes I've ever seen: they aren't strictly green and seem to reflect the light exactly the way the ocean does at the marina. No wonder Finn is all over her, she's gorgeous.

Why are all the women around me stunning?

Andrea clears her throat and says with a smile that brings out a dimple in one cheek, "It's crocheting, actually. And you can call me Annie. It's sort of a new nickname but it's growing on me."

Oh? As far as I recall, Finn's the one who gave her that nickname. Maybe his persistence is paying off after all. I wonder if he knows that.

Annie sits in a jangle of bangle bracelets, her colorful skirt spread out around her like bright flower petals. With her long, wavy hair and those eyes, she looks could be a gypsy or a witch. Or a mermaid. I picture her on golden sand, wind blowing through that long, dark hair, beckoning Finn with her low, husky voice.

She keeps talking. "Madge said she wanted to make Christmas ornaments for the dorm, and I thought these would be perfect." Annie holds up two tiny items in shades of red and green yarn; each has a small candy cane tied to it.

"They're darling!" Madge claps enthusiastically.

They sort of make me want to throw up, honestly. But I've been bored ever since _the kiss;_ sort of lying low, just studying and staying out of trouble. I'm so bored that I'm almost looking forward to going home, so you would think this would be a welcome diversion. I'll get to quiz Annie, and that's an added bonus, right? But I can't seem to summon any energy for something this _adorable._ Next thing you know, she'll be having us knit little caps for a maternity ward. Madge throws me a warning look, though, as if she can sense my desire to run from the room.

So I take a hook anyway, despite my firm belief that this will neuter me. "How many of these do we have to do?"

Annie's hypnotic gaze meets mine levelly. "Two hundred and fifty."

_Fuck._

-o—

I'm sort of enjoying myself, I'll admit it. Weird, huh? There's math involved in each of these ornaments, and I like seeing something get created with just a flick of my wrist. Really, it's not that different from Engineering. I spy Madge smirking at me as if she can tell I'm actually into it, so I stick my tongue out at her.

We're talking boys. What else are we going to fill the time with? Each little ornament takes about five minutes. Do the math – we're going to be at this for a whole bunch of time in the next couple of days. We might as well settle in and get to know each other, right? Madge is explaining who everyone in our little group is – Annie already knows Finn, of course – and has just gone into a description of Gale.

"Gale's a prick," I interrupt.

Madge sighs.

"Seriously, Madge, that's even his name. _Hawthorne_. Get it? He's a little prick." I almost drop a stitch and have to focus on my hands, so it surprises me when I hear Katniss come to his defense.

"No, he's not," Katniss says quietly. "Guys, I think I really, really screwed this up."

"Katni—"I put my hands in my lap, wondering where she's going with this.

"No, Jo. I think I hurt them both, for no reason. Or maybe for the worst ones: I didn't want anything to change and I didn't believe in myself. Who comes all the way across the country and doesn't want to change?" Her eyes sparkle with the sheen of tears. "And Madge, I think I hurt you too. Did I? Do you like Gale?"

Annie's looking from Katniss to Madge quizzically, so Madge fills her in on Gale and Peeta, the kiss. All of it. I wonder if she's stalling so she doesn't have to answer Katniss's question.

"Do you, Madge?" Katniss isn't letting her off the hook, though. "Let's just get all of it out there. Please? Do you have feelings for Gale?"

Madge is silent, obviously weighing her options. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet Katniss's. "Yes."

Katniss smiles a shaky smile. "How come you never said anything?" At Madge's incredulous look, she laughs. "Let me re-phrase: how come you didn't say anything once we got to L.A.?"

"Probably the same reasons you didn't mention your fight with him at the end of summer: we had to settle in, then classes started and we were busy making new friends. I wanted for all of us – Peeta and Gale and especially you and I - to just start over, you know? And then we saw Peeta at that frat party, and Jo over here made time with Gale." She shrugs. "I figured I would just leave well enough alone. Find another fish in this sea, something like that."

Annie holds up a hand that jingles musically from the bangle bracelets she wears. "Wait. Let me get this straight: Gale likes Katniss. Madge likes Gale. Johanna and Gale hooked up, and Gale kissed Katniss. Is that right?"

Madge laughs. "Yeah. Pretty much. I'm the only person in this room – besides you, Annie – who hasn't kissed Gale. And I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who _wants_ to." She laughs harder.

Eventually, I have to wipe my eyes; that's how hard I'm laughing. When she puts it that way, it _is_ pretty hysterical.

"So, how was he?" Madge side-eyes Katniss and I and resumes her crocheting.

Katniss and I both sputter.

Madge levels our attempts to brush her off with a no-nonsense look. "Oh, come on, spill it. Like Katniss said, let's just get it out there. I have to live vicariously through someone and it might as well be you two."

I find myself talking, even though I'm sure it's going to make Katniss uncomfortable. "He was nice. A little sloppy, but he was pretty drunk. Frankly, I'm pretty surprised that he could…uh...you know…at all." It's stupid, but I don't want to swear in front of Annie.

I want to make a good impression, so fucking sue me!

Annie smirks. "You weren't sure if he could get an erection but you still went up to his room anyway?"

I'm stoked that Annie isn't put off by me so far, so I give her a smile. It's probably the first genuine one all night. "Yeah. I figured that I could just crash there, worst case scenario." I warm to my topic. "Nice hip action. Not too big but not too small, either. I think he trims, but not obnoxiously. All in all, I would give him an 8."

Katniss just stares at me and shakes her head before chiming in. "He has soft lips."

"That's it?" Madge asks. Like she thinks Katniss should have way more information saved in her brain than that. Frankly, I'm surprised Katniss's head didn't explode when his lips touched hers. Doesn't she have some sort of "virgin self-destruct" kit enabled?

"Sorry. I don't really have enough experience to have my own grading system. Unlike _some_ people." Katniss nudges me and I drop a stitch, so I punch her. She hits me back until we're doing that girl hand flap thing that guys make fun of.

Yeah, we're mature.

"Stop! Ow! Stop!" Katniss tries to move away. "Seriously, guys, I need help! What am I going to do with this whole situation?" She groans.

I back off and get up to start the kettle so we can take a little break, because the only advice I have for her involves picking a guy and showing up in stilettos and a trench coat and nothing else. Call me crazy, but that doesn't seem like something Everdeen would go for. Or Peeta. Gale, however, would have no problem taking the hint and doing something with that. Granted, he'd probably have Night Ranger or Whitesnake on as background music, but he'd still close the deal.

Annie clears her throat, her eyes fixed on Katniss's unhappy face. "Why'd you come to L.A.?"

Katniss bites her lip. "Well, I got this scholarship. I didn't really have a choice; I just knew that if I stayed at home, there was nothing for me there. This lets me get away and maybe make some good choices so I can make a better life for my sister." She winces. "Does that sound stupid or ungrateful? I don't dislike it here. It's just…different…than home."

"Did you think that those choices might mean taking risks? Being different?" Annie surprises me with her line of questioning. She doesn't seem tense or anything. More like this is a question she's thought on for a while herself.

"I guess I hadn't thought about it," Katniss answers. She pulls her braid over her shoulder and starts fiddling with it in a way that tells me she's uncomfortable.

"I came to L.A. so I could stop being me." Annie announces matter-of-factly. "I wanted a totally fresh start where I could be anything or anyone I wanted. No one here knows where I came from or who I was before. I can be a different person every week, if I want."

I snort. I can't help it, really. "Come on, Annie. You and Madge are like freaking supermodels. What could you possibly have to run from?"

She meets my eyes, crochet hook poised in mid-air, then carefully puts it down and beings rooting through her voluminous bag until she pulls out a Coach wallet. She flips it open to a bunch of pictures and slides it my way.

"That's me." Annie points to a dark haired girl with a serious expression on her face standing in a swim team photo. Her hair is scraped back off her forehead in a brutalizing ponytail and her shoulders are hunched as if she's self-conscious and is trying to make herself as small as possible. Even her eyes are averted from the camera. "Never quite good enough for my coaches: not fast enough, not strong enough, not thin enough, not dedicated enough, not putting in enough effort."

She pulls the wallet back and stares at the photo for a minute before shutting it and putting it in her bag. Her expression when she turns back to us is relaxed, almost satisfied. "I'm tired of not being _enough._ That part of my life is over. There is nothing here that could make me feel like as much of a failure as I felt in the last four years. So, I'm starting over. "

Katniss gets a faraway look on her face as she considers Annie's words and idly traces the outline of a flower painted on the jeans she's worn at least twice since she brought them home from Peeta's. I've almost asked her if she wears them because she likes them or because of him, but I've stopped myself. She has enough to deal with right now without me opening that wound.

"I like that idea. Starting over." Katniss nods. "Let's all start over."

Madge nods, her eyes sparkling with determination as she raises her water bottle. "Here's to starting over."

-o—

We're laughing over little things Finn has been doing for Annie. Not just little gifts like flowers or the Starbucks card she found slipped under her door, but notes made of cut out hearts telling her how pretty she looks, or a paper crane for luck on the day of their Physiology final. She explains how sweet she finds them, but she's not sure what to do with it all: she's never had a guy pay this much attention to her and it's a little strange.

Annie's the first to hear the commotion down the hall and pin it to the right cause. She laughs, "That must be Finn. Honestly, does he ever get tired of women throwing themselves at him?"

I shake my head. "No. But frankly, if I had guys doing that, I'd have one of those take a number machines that they have at delis."

"Ladies! And Miss Cresta as well?" He grabs his chest eloquently, but his eyes widen a little at the sight of Annie. It makes me want to cackle. "What are you up to?"

Annie rolls her eyes at his over-the-top expression. "We're taking over the world via crocheted ornaments. Want to help?" She proffers a hook in his direction.

Finn declines graciously. "No. But I did bring snacks from the enemy camp." He holds out a baggie full of cookies. "Peeta's been baking non-stop for a week and it is _awesome._ "

"Finn!" Madge chastises him.

He shrugs. "I'm just saying that we can all reap the rewards of his pain. Try these, you won't be disappointed." He passes cookies to all of us and I see Katniss inhale two at once. It dawns on me that this is the first thing I've seen her eat in at least a day and I frown at the realization. Hell, if it takes Finnick Odair and contraband cookies to get Katniss to eat, so be it.

I take a bit of the dark brown cookie in my hand and it gives under my teeth with a resounding snap. Crumbs fall onto my tongue like shrapnel as the bite of ginger and sweet undertone of molasses melt in my mouth. Like everything else about Peeta, there's a depth to these cookies that's surprising in that the finish morphs from ginger to smooth lemon, leaving the mouth refreshed. I could eat about a dozen of these and I must not be the only one - Katniss has grabbed three more and is nibbling on them, then dunking them in her teacup.

Annie, who's never had baked goods from Peeta, actually moans. "Oh, my God. _These_ are amazing."

"I know. They're worth the heartbreak, aren't they?" Finn nods.

"I don't know about that, Finn," Katniss says. She clears her throat. "How is he?"

"Listening to a lot of John Legend and Keb Mo, baking up a storm. Oh, and he cut his hair."

Madge gapes. "What?"

"Gave himself a buzz-cut. Said something about wanting a fresh start." Finn brushes crumbs off his fingers.

Katniss swallows, hard. "I wish I could do something for him. And Gale. I just wasn't prepared –"

I interrupt, "There is something, Everdeen. It's called a _threesome._ " Finn snorts, Madge smirks and Katniss shoots me a dirty look. Hell, if I thought for a second that Peeta and Gale were amenable, I would have been on them both like white on rice that first night.

Finn slides into our little circle and sits next to Annie. "Enough about the star crossed love affairs of Lambda Chi. Annie, aren't you going to console me for losing a lap race to Brue today?"

"Finn, get out. Seriously, if you're not going to help us with our craft project, you need to leave so we can focus." I point at him with my hook. I need to hear about a shirtless and moist Brue MacLeod like I need a hole in the head.

Annie backs me up when she says gently, "Finn, you're a distraction and we're having a good night."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Am I a good distraction?"

Annie sighs. "Remember when I said that I didn't want to date you because you were a player and I couldn't trust you to ever be serious? Well, this is why. I'd hate to think that this is the real Finn Odair."

His easy-going smile disappears and he leans toward her. "I never joke about the pool."

"Oh? How about we have a little competition? We'll do four laps – winner gets their wish." Annie casually picks up her crochet hook and begins stitching.

"Is my wish so obvious that you can name it?" He's looking at her with the cockiest grin I've ever seen.

She's counting stitches under her breath, ignoring him as he watches her. "If you win, we go out."

He lets out a little whoop of joy. "And if you do?"

She studiously finishes an entire row. Finally, she meets his gaze. "If I win, you don't ever ask me out again."

Finn looks visibly shaken for a second before the cocky Odair grin is back in place. He winks at Annie. "Good thing I never lose."

-o—

The girls show up for Annie as a sign of feminine solidarity. Even though I'm conflicted – Odair is my best friend, after all – Annie's pretty cool. And I'm sure that Finn could handle being knocked down a few pegs. Plus, this event appeals to my competitive spirit.

I know, I know. Shocking, right?

The McDonald's Swim Stadium is outdoors. Even though Los Angeles is pretty warm in December by most standards, that water is going to be freaking cold. Most of the college co-eds present are tanning themselves in preparation for their trips home, not actually in the water. I shiver in my sweatshirt as I see at Annie getting ready for the match, stretching before her lane, trying to get her muscles warm. She wears a green iridescent one-piece on that looks like the scales of a fish. It exactly matches her eyes, which almost glow in her excitement and I realize exactly how happy she is to be competing again.

"You ready to kick his ass?" I hand her swim cap to her.

She nods. "I'm going to smoke him. Jo, you're going to be okay with that, right? We're such new friends –" Her brows draw together as she tucks her hair into her cap.

I laugh. "Annie, we may not know each other super-well, but I think you're just what Finn needs to knock him back down to earth. Now, let's do this so that we can go back to packing and get the hell out of L.A."

I turn back to join Madge and Katniss on the bleachers and notice that Finn's cheering section, including a sad looking, almost bald Peeta, have arrived. Gale returns Madge's wave. I take that as a sign that fraternization is okay.

"Hey, Peet. Nice haircut."

"Jo, hey. How are your finals? Ready to go home?" He smiles at me. We haven't spoken since that odd dinner over a week ago. I'm glad he doesn't seem angry with me.

"Finals were good. I did pretty well. I'm ready for a break, yeah. You? How are you doing? Nice hair, by the way."

"Thanks. Time for a change, I guess. I'm pretty ready for a break." He laughs drily, the sound drawing Katniss's eyes to his face. "You and Finn are driving, right? You should come by the frat house and pick up some snacks for the road. I know Finn's told you how much I've been baking, since…you know." He rubs the back of his neck. He looks up and catches Katniss's eyes before looking away quickly.

"Thanks for the offer, we'll do that. Have you met Annie yet? She's really cool."

"She must be to put up with Finn." We both laugh at that. I see that Katniss is still staring at Peeta while he's sneaking peaks back.

_Fuck. Seriously? I want to shake the shit out of the two of them. Finn is right: this Star Crossed Lover bullshit has to stop. It's worse than Romeo and Juliet._

Peeta jerks his head to some splashing in the pool. "Looks like Finn and his coach have arrived."

"See you later, then." I turn around and stop dead. Finn and Brue are getting out of the pool, water sluicing off of them as they grin at all of us.

I've seen Finn close to naked plenty of times, so the golden smoothness of his body in his tiny, black Speedo, his gold-kissed hair glistening with droplets of water in the mid-afternoon sun, teeth gleaming in a smile designed to make even the granny-est of panties smolder and erupt into flames does nothing for me. Actually, it makes me want to laugh because every girl in the place who isn't a friend of his is busy giving him a mental handjob right now, and he knows it.

No. What's got me hanging in the moment is Brue, standing next to him and patting him on the back. I've never seen Brue in his swim gear. He's as tan as Finn, his Speedo just as tiny. It cups his tight ass perfectly, making me want to grab it.

I have to gulp, especially when I see him walking toward me. The frontal view is almost as good as that ass. Almost.

"Jo, haven't seen you around much lately."

I'm mesmerized by the water rivulets trailing their way down his broad shoulders to his chest. Is that stubble I see? "Finals were a bitch, but they're done now."

"Yeah. Same here." He scratches at his chest.

 _Yep. That's stubble. He must let his chest grow out after the season is over._ I want to fist pump, since that's the first unattractive thing I've seen about him. Seriously, even his fucking feet are attractive. I smile widely at him and he blinks, his hand halting in mid-scratch.

"You're guy is going down today. Annie is going to whip him."

"Oh?" He cocks an eyebrow but his eyes twinkle. "You think? Finn's pretty good in the pool."

"Annie's gonna go the distance. She's a fighter, that one." I glance over at her, but she's ignoring everyone with her eyes shut and her hands over her ears. I wonder if she's picturing her victory. I turn back to Brue to find him watching me.

"Will I see you before you leave for break?" It's a question out of left-field, but it dawns on me that I've missed him the past week or two when we haven't spent much time together. Running alone has been fine, but it's not nearly as much fun as when I have him to challenge me.

I nod. "Yeah. We're getting snacks from Peeta for the drive home. Maybe I'll see you then."

"Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?" His adam's apple bobs. "I've got to get back to Finn."

"K. Tell Finn good luck for me. He's gonna need it."

Brue turns to walk away, giving me a fine view of his spine and ass, complete with grip-dimples where my hands would fit nicely. Or my ankles, really, once they were locked around his waist…

He tosses words over his shoulder, catching my obvious ogling. "Oh, and Jo? May the best man win."

I cross my arms over my chest as I feel my face flame. " _She_ plans on it, Brue."

_Come on, Annie. Kick his ass._


	22. Christmas -- California Style

"Hit me with another one." Finn glances at Katniss in the rearview mirror. Katniss dutifully hands him another of Peeta's raspberry linzer cookies with a sympathetic look, oblivious to the snowfall of powdered sugar that fall onto Finn's pristine interior.

"You're gonna get fat." I fiddle with his iPhone. Finn has been playing nothing but depressing music in the day and a half since he lost to Annie. Frankly, I'm tired of listening to REM, the Smiths, Depeche Mode, The Script and Counting Crows. I flip to another playlist and sit back as the dulcet sounds of The Killers fill the car.

"I am _wounded_ , Jo. _Wounded._ I can't believe you would kick a guy when he's down. The least you can do is have some sympathy."

I snort so loudly that I accidentally breathe in some powdered sugar and have to cough. "You are so pathetic. Kick you? You kicked yourself when you started showboating instead of racing."

Finn at least has the sense to look contrite. "I thought I had it in the bag. How was I supposed to know that she was holding back until the last lap too?"

"You weren't. But it was disrespectful – a total dick move – and you got what you deserved. I still think she could beat you in straight up match." I shoot him a look. "How long before you apologize?"

Finn frowns. "You know the deal, Jo. I told the lady that I would leave her alone. I'm at least going to respect that."

"You make no sense to me, man. Just tell her you were goofing around and that you'd like another chance." I hold my hand to the back seat and Everdeen hands me a cookie. I try not to inhale it so I can savor the raspberry and hazelnut goodness that melts in my mouth like a sweet, buttery snowflake.

 _Fuck_. That Peeta can really angsturbake.

Katniss has the balls to jump in. "I think Finn should respect her wishes. If he really wants to show some sort of apology, he should send her something and explain, but then tell her that he won't contact her again."

I turn and glare at her. "Really? Because that's working out so well for you with Peeta?"

She glares back. "That's low, Jo. We're not talking about Peeta and me. We're talking about Finn and Annie—"

"It's the same thing!"

"No it's not! And I'm stunned you noticed at all, given how close you were at the pool to using Brue as your personal slip and slide." Her gray eyes flash fire.

I suck in my breath like I just got sucker-punched. How dare Everdeen say that? "What did you just say?"

Her gray eyes are unflappable. "You heard me. You and Brue –"

"Ladies! Ladies! Please. Let's keep this civil. Jo, don't make me put on Demi Lovato." I hiss at him like he just poured boiling acid on my face.

Katniss leans over and stage whispers, "Johanna and Brue were making eyes at each other."

"We were not!" I seethe. I mean, okay, I was checking him out. I've got a pulse, don't I? And he was wearing tiny little nut-huggers. In my estimation, that's not just an invitation; it's like handing out samples. Is it my fault that there might have been a little eye action going on?

Katniss refuses to let it go. "You wanted to use your tongue as a squeegee!"

"I am going to let my little brothers grind you to a pulp, I swear. Finn, back me up here. If I wanted Brue, wouldn't I have made my move already?"

Finn taps his top lip. "You do have a point. If there's one thing that you're not, it's subtle. And Brue's not really your type. He's _complicated._ "

"I saw it! She was looking at him like he was her next meal. Personally, I think she doesn't want to make a move because she's pen pals with Brue's grandpa."

Finn's eyes bug out of his head just about the same time as I almost choke on my gurgle of fury. I am going to _kill_ Katniss Everdeen.

"It's true. She got a letter from him about a week ago. Seems she wrote him during Thanksgiving. And Finn," Katniss leans over his seat conspiratorially, " _She won't let me read them."_ The look she throws me is triumphant.

"Jo, you do realize who Angus MacLeod is, right? He's practically royalty in the construction industry. If it's built in L.A., it's built by him. He's like a gazillionaire." Finn shakes his head like I am the ultimate doofus.

It's true that I've sent a couple of letters to Brue's grandfather, and that he's written back with some great advice on everything from how to handle my family and friends to why he believes all people are asses. But it was my little secret: I just wanted to have someone impartial weigh in on things! It's not like Dr. Aurelius ever gives his opinions and Angus has a hell of a sense of humor.

A blush color my cheeks as I fire a look of my own to Katniss. She had better be a light sleeper, or she's dead.

_Fucking Everdeen._

-o—

"What do you mean Katniss can stay in Carys's room?" I gape at my mom.

Finn had dropped us off after promising not to be a stranger the whole three weeks we're home. I gave Katniss the grand tour, ignoring the fact that she kept wiping her palms nervously on her jeans (those freaking Peeta jeans, _again)._ Frankly, I couldn't fathom what the big deal was – it's just a house. And after her little conversation in the car, I could give two fucks about her major malfunction, so we just dumped our stuff in my room and made for the television until everyone got home.

"We decided that we wanted to go through her things and donate what we could before Christmas to help another family with a little girl. We haven't repainted yet, but the bed linens and everything have been changed. So she can put her things in there." My mom punctuates this shot to my heart with a large smile.

I practically yell, _"_ No. _Fuck that. She can stay with me in my room."_

"Johanna Grace, do not start this. You're not too old to ground." She points a well-manicured finger in my direction. Not a hair on her head moves, despite the warning in her voice. "And watch your language in front of the boys!"

Mom turns to Katniss and ignores me. "Katniss, feel free to make yourself at home. We want you to have a good time and treat our home as yours."

Dad walks into the house just at that moment and drops the mail on the island. He kisses Mom and must pick up on the tension in her shoulders. "What's going on?"

"Johanna is upset that we're redecorating Carys's room."

"I am not _upset!—"_

Dad crosses over to me. "Jo, this seemed like the best thing to do for our family. We have to move on, honey. And if we can help another family or two out by donating her stuff –"

"It's bullshit! How can you act like she was never here?" My breath hitches. I've got to get out of here.

As I run upstairs, I think I hear my dad ask Katniss if she'll talk to me.

_Yeah. Like that's going to help._

She knocks quietly on my door and I grunt in response. I hear her behind me as I grip my pillow, studiously ignoring her.

She flops down next to the bed amid a crinkling of paper. "Is that chocolate?" I can't help asking when the smell of something rich and distinctive hits my nose.

"Mmmm…." She takes a bite and talks around a mouthful. "I didn't give any of these to Finn. Want some?"

I want to continue sulking on my bed. But since she's offered, I swing my legs over the side and hold out my hand. "I'm sure Finn will live." I take a bite of one and I'm not actually sure for a moment if my statement is accurate. Because I think every moment I've ever lived without this cookie is a moment I've wasted on this earth: it's some sort of velvety chocolate cookie. _Not too sweet_ , I think, as I taste a hint of dark roast coffee – espresso, maybe? – and some sort of concentrated chocolate flavor. It's not a chocolate chip. It's too raw for that. Too organic tasting. The entire outside edge is chocolate dipped and it's like the richest, darkest mocha I've ever had.

"You should dump Peeta more often," I say in appreciation.

Surprisingly, Katniss laughs and shakes her head. "Can you imagine what he would bake if we had been going out and I dumped him for real?"

My bark of laughter joins hers as I nibble on the bite-sized bliss. "How is it possible that his baking alone does not get you wet, Everdeen?"

She rolls her head back so she's looking at me and actually winks. "Who said it doesn't?" We nibble through another cookie each before she throws something up to me on the bed. "Your dad gave me your mail."

"Mail?" I take the festive holiday envelope and rip it open as I chew the last bit of cookie. Obviously, it's a Christmas card. By the gorgeous weight of the paper envelope and the bold monogram, I know that it's Angus MacLeod's response to my own card and letter. The card, it turns out, is a family picture. At the center are Angus and Elizabeth, surrounded by a posse of what can only be his entire family. I laugh as I think about Brue's description of Thanksgiving:population of a small country, indeed.

"What?" Everdeen asks.

"Angus sent me a Christmas card." I go to hand it to her when another picture falls out. It's a wallet sized photo of Angus and Brue, wearing traditional Highland dress. Angus looks like a laird above all else, smiling and proud. Brue? Well, Brue looks surprising comfortable in what is essentially a skirt. The long lines flatter his leanness and his smile is blinding and devilish. I don't know if I've ever seen him looking so rakishly handsome. Katniss wouldn't be wrong if she said that I wanted to see what he's got on under that kilt.

I flip it over. In Angus's sharp script he's written, "Thought you would enjoy this, lass. Hold fast and Happy Christmas." I know I'm smiling because of the confused look Everdeen's giving me. She doesn't trust this mood swing either.

"Jo?"

"I'm good. Want to go play some video games with the boys?" I shove off the bed, conveniently hiding the picture under my pillow.

"Sure. I just wanted to say that I'm happy to stay in here. I'd actually sort of miss your snide remarks and snoring." Her tone is light, but her eyes are asking me if I'm okay.

I throw her a look because I do _not_ snore. "Thanks. Are we going to share any other baked goods you conveniently neglected to give to Finn?"

"Can I call you Johanna Grace?"

"Can I call you Catpiss?"

I can tell she knows I'm okay. And that's got to be good enough for now.

-o-

Our days fall into a pattern: Finn joins us and we either play video games, or we lay out by the pool. When the boys get home from school, I leave them to swim and frolic and go inside, ostensibly to read. Truth is I can't even breathe when the kids start splashing in the water. Neither Katniss nor Finn tries to discuss it, even though I'm sure they can tell how edgy I get.

Katniss disappears periodically too. I'm pretty sure it's to call her family because a couple of times she's come back with red rimmed eyes or spiky lashes, like she's been crying. I give her privacy though and don't bring it up. If she and Finn can leave my baggage packed for now, I'm not about to ask her to delve into hers.

It's the Friday before Christmas and we're getting our asses whipped by Charles, Christian, and Caleb. Well, by " _we"_ I really mean " _I"._ Katniss is freaking amazing at almost every game we play. She's so good that Charles, the twelve year old, has begrudgingly nicknamed her "Ace". They fight over having her on their team to the point where Finn and I joke that we're going to leave them alone so they can work it out among themselves.

She even doesn't mind wrestling with them, which reminds me of Peeta and what he told me of his relationship with own brothers. I'm stunned at how good she is with them. I shouldn't be surprised, though, because Gale has two younger brothers and I'm sure she's spent time with them. She _is_ his best friend, after all.

"Ace!" Caleb's missing a front tooth, so he has a bit of a whistle when he says it. "Come play on my team!"

She tousles his dark hair. "Sure thing, sport."

The other two groan. Charles in particular seems to take it hard and I side-eye my twelve year old brother, wondering if he's developing a crush on the raven-haired temptress that is Miss Everdeen. I idly wonder if it's her plethora of Disney pajamas.

"You keep playing on his team!" he throws the controller to the end of the couch.

I butt in to defend my honor. "I thought we were the ultimate team, Charles?"

"No offense, Jo. But Katniss _wins._ " Charles sounds about thirty years old when he says it. Just like that, I want to hug him and make him a little kid forever.

"It's not how good you are, it's how much fun you have." Katniss hands him the controller with a smile.

"You can say that _because you're good,"_ he groans and flings himself back on the coach, disrupting Caleb who turns and punches him.

"We'll trade after this game. How about that?" Katniss seamlessly negotiates.

"Dinner, everyone!" Dad yells from downstairs. He's officially off for a week as of Monday and seems pretty stoked. I can tell because he's made homemade pizza. _Yum._

When we get downstairs, he's humming something as he makes his way around the kitchen.

"Mr. Mason, that smells so good." Leave it to Katniss to kiss ass.

He grabs me and gives me a rough kiss on the cheek. "You guys have a good day?"

"Yeah. Same old stuff," I tell him as I get plates.

"Dad, Ace said she would be on my team!" Caleb tugs on Dad's apron strings. It's practically the only clean part of his entire apron, the rest showcasing tomato sauce and dough remnants in a sort of modern art display.

"That's awesome, kiddo! Help your sister set the table."

"Your dad sings?" Katniss half-whispers as we finish getting everything out on the table.

"Yeah. If he starts singing anything by Billy Joel, run."

Almost as if he can hear me, I hear him start in on _Just the Way You Are._ He hugs each of the boys in turn and I laugh as Charles rolls his eyes, Christian sticks out his tongue, and Caleb kisses Dad's cheek. I give Katniss a sarcastic smile just in time for him to grab me and swing me around in a big arc. I'm scrambling away from his war zone of an apron, but he's not letting go and we end up dancing around the table once before he moves on to my mom. The look on her face is truly comic as she tries to keep her navy blue Ralph Lauren blazer clean. She finally gives him a sweet kiss and swats him away.

"Katniss, do your parents sing?" He asks the question innocently.

Katniss takes a sip of water. "My mom doesn't, but my dad used to before he died."

He's immediately contrite. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You didn't know." She clears her throat and sends him a smile. "He used to love the song _Misty Blue._ Do you know it?"

"Dorothy Moore, I think. I've got a copy somewhere. Would you be interested in hearing it after dinner?"

I've never heard of the song, which is a big red flag, so I lean over toward Katniss and say quietly, "Don't encourage him or he'll make you listen to what he calls _classic_ _rock_ for the rest of break." My dad's got a reel to reel tape player and he's not afraid to use it as punishment.

"That would be really nice." She ignores me and punctuates her statement with a bite of pepperoni pizza with mushroom and green pepper.

When the doorbell rings just as we're cleaning up dinner, I jog to answer it. I think it might be Finn and I'm not disappointed.

"What's for dinner?" He's leaning against the door lazily.

"We just ate, but I think there are leftovers. Come on in." We make our way back to the kitchen and I serve up a couple of slices while Finn watches my dad and Katniss in the next room.

"Is she having a good time?" Finn shoves a gigantic bite in his mouth. It's amazing how even _that_ doesn't make him less hot.

I shrug. "Yeah, I think so."

"Any news about Peeta?"

I shake my head. "None that I've heard. She's been pretty closed-mouthed so far." I watch him take another gigantic bite. "Finn, slow down or you'll choke. Haven't you eaten this week?"

He shakes his head. "Dad's trying to keep me lean. Get this: he wants me to go into modeling. His agent says he's had a few takers already." Finn grins and strikes a pose. "Can't you picture this in an Abercrombie ad?"

I wonder if I should tell him he has basil stuck between his teeth. "What did you tell him?"

He bursts out laughing. "Come on, Jo! You know me better than that. I told him, _fuck no_. The last thing I need is to have to count calories and work out every day. It would wreck my sanity. Plus, the only reason to do it is to attract chicks and I've already got my chick-magnet set to electro-magnetic." He downs an entire glass of Coke, wipes his mouth, and pulls his keys out of his pocket. "That was awesome, thank, but I've got to run. I'm getting some color added to the tattoo."

I think for a second. "Finn, do they do body piercings at your tattoo place?"

His brows furrow. "Yeah. Why?" When he sees where the conversation is headed he shakes his head. "You said that Barb would freak out if you got your belly button pierced."

"Yeah, well, I don't know that I care much about Barb's opinion right now. They remade Carys's room into a guest room. Besides, it's my body."

Finn just stares at me like I'm signing my death warrant when we hear Katniss and my dad come in from the den.

"Finn! Good to see you!" My dad punches Finn's arm.

"Hi, Mr. Mason." He rubs the punch site and smiles grimly. I laugh because it's been the same exchange between them for years.

"Finn was asking if you and I wanted to take a ride." I direct my question at Katniss.

"You guys go. Your dad is going to help me put together a playlist." Katniss ducks her head.

"In my day we called it a mixtape." Dad pours himself some water.

It's not until I see the blush on her cheeks that I put two and two together: Katniss is making a mixtape for Peeta. I so want to be around to at least hear her choices. But I also can't pass up this opportunity to permanently mar my body under the auspices that I'm getting back at my parents.

I'm seriously conflicted.

"Jo, you ready?" Finn asks.

I shoot another glance at Everdeen and hope that, after I get back, I can get her to share whatever's in her head.

-o—

Finn's calling me a wuss for crying during the piercing when we get back to the house a little while later. I'm not ashamed that I wailed like a baby: Finn can say what he wants, but this shit _hurts_! I can't even imagine what it's like to get a tattoo as large as his. Or a labial piercing! Georgia hurts just thinking about it.

We find Everdeen and my Dad in the kitchen; she's obviously showing him how to do something with his cell phone. They both look up when we stride in.

"I forgot about your mail earlier. Jo, you got a package today and Katniss, you got a card." Dad snaps his fingers, like I've just reminded him. He gets up from the table and walks into the laundry room to get whatever the package is. I'm baffled because I didn't order anything online and I certainly don't expect anyone to mail me a gift. So what could it be?

Dad hands me a box that's heavy for its size. Even without glancing at the return address, the packing tape tells me that it's from Mellark's bakery. Katniss is busy opening her card – from her smile I can tell it's from Prim. I get the packaging off the navy blue and silver tin, sealed with more Mellark's stickers. A small, embossed card wishes us a Merry Christmas from Peeta and his family. I quickly discard it and peel off those stickers because it truly looks like I've gotten something from the bakery. And if Peeta was baking up a storm in his frat kitchen, I can't fucking wait to see what he can do when he's got access to professional quality tools.

The lid gives a resounding _pop_ and a nimbus cloud of alcoholic vapor escapes the tin. I have to cough a little, that's how much the sweet scent permeates the air.

"Is that a fruitcake?" Finn stares in disbelief. He looks like someone just kicked a puppy.

I nod in disappointment. I'm pretty sure I felt this same way when I found out there wasn't really a Santa Claus.

Katniss looks up from where she's smiling at what she's reading. "What happened?"

"Peeta sent us a fruitcake." Finn eyes practically fill with tears of disappointment. "He must still be really pissed."

I nod, wondering if Finn's got a package at his house from Mellark's filled with sugar plums, fudge, toffee, or peppermint bark. Then I remember that Peeta probably thinks of Finn as a double agent and shipped him a fruitcake too. At least knowing we all got the same crappy gift makes me feel a little better.

Dad's oblivious to our disappointment. He loves sweets enough that he's getting plates from the cupboard as well as Cool Whip and a knife.

"Let's try it." He rubs his hands together in glee.

Finn tries to bring him down to earth. "Mr. Mason, that's a fruitcake."

"So?" He looks from Finn to me to Katniss, who just shrugs.

"So? Ick! The only thing it has going for it is that it's alcoholic." I flounce into a chair not even bothering to hide my disappointment. We've run out of Peeta's cookies and I'm going through withdrawal. Sure, there are other Christmas cookies here. Mom bakes a little, but they're all from a mix. What I want is homemade goodness that only Peeta—

 _Holy crap_. Peeta's turned me off of mix cookies. _That fucking bastard!_ I am going to have words with him after I see him. Well, after I see him and stuff my face with whatever it is that he's baked recently. He did say I should go to him if the craving hit.

I wonder if I that's called a "foodie call".

"This is from the guy who used power tools to make that car-cake, right? This had to be a mint to ship; it's so heavy, so I doubt it's a joke. Just try it." Dad coaxes us.

He cuts small slices of the cake, releasing even more fumes, places them reverently on small plates with judicious dollops of Cool Whip and motions for Katniss to bring me a slice. The alcohol vapor precedes her like a pressure wave. We wait in unspoken agreement for Dad to take the first bite. When he does and groans, I see Katniss lift a small forkful to her mouth and taste it, chewing thoughtfully. When she goes for a second bite, I decide to dive in.

How bad can it be? It's got Cool Whip.

I almost have to hold my breath against the heavy aroma so the fork can complete the trip to my mouth. Just before it passes my lips, I think I get a whiff of cherry and chocolate. I'm not wrong. As the cake slides onto my tongue, I gasp. If a Black Forest cake got drunk, had sex with a fruitcake, and got knocked up, this is what the result would taste like. Sure, there's the alcohol, but there's cherries mixed in with it. By the time you get past those two flavors, there's a creamy, dark chocolate finish that has some sort of nutty essence. What is that? I have to take another bite to find out. Finally, after the third bite of cherry-chocolate seduction, I think I've got it: hazelnuts.

This cake isn't strutting around, stroking its rubbery, glazed fruits, hiding its embarrassment of a nondescript crumb that's been doused in alcohol in an attempt to shield its flaws from the world. No. This cake is the real deal: a hot guy in a suit who holds the door open for you and takes you home after a flawless date only to seductively showcase hidden talents with tongue and hips.

I would sleep in this cake's wet spot.

I look around the table: Dad is already done with his slice and getting up for a second. I know without a doubt that if I don't get another slice tonight, he'll have devoured the entire cake by morning. Katniss is licking the crumbs off of her thumb and Finn has his eyes shut as he chews his last bite.

Peeta has done the impossible: he's made us fruitcake fans. Holy shit.

After we've polished off the entire tin – I tell myself that we all do it to save my dad from a hangover– Finn leaves and Katniss weaves her way upstairs, already texting. Dad and I do the dishes to wash away the evidence.

My bellybutton has settled into a throb that's noticeable but not horrible with and my dad is humming again. It's warm and comfortable in the kitchen, the golden light reflecting off of every surface and reminding me that I've home. Then I realize that the warmth isn't on the outside. I feel good – full and relaxed and happy from the inside out. I lean my head against my dad's shoulder for a second and he absentmindedly leans down and kisses my forehead.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers.

I get misty for a moment, then snap to attention. "Dad? Are you and Mom doing gifts for all of us this year?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well, um… Katniss doesn't have a lot of money and she's freaking out about gifts for everyone. Could you guys maybe just exchange with the boys? "

He shuts off the water and turns to me with a thoughtful frown. "I think your mom might be a little disappointed because she's already bought some things for you and for Katniss. I'll talk to her, though. I'm sure we can come up with something."

"Thanks, Dad. And thanks for helping her with her playlist. She was…well…I get the idea that she was really close to her dad."

"I got that impression too. I hope whomever it's for appreciates it." He looks around the kitchen. "I've got the rest of this. Go on upstairs."

I nod, making my way to the doorway and turn to look back at my dad. His hair is mussed, his feet are bare below his tan shorts and un-tucked Polo shirt. He has new lines next to his eyes and he looks tired. Older. It takes me by surprise, this older version of my dad standing in our kitchen.

"Love you, Dad." My voice comes out thick and deeper than normal, the words rusty with disuse.

His head jerks up in surprise. "Love you, too." He smiles widely.

Katniss is already under the covers in the trundle, the sleeve of her reindeer pajamas proclaiming with juvenile glee that Rudolph _is_ the Red-Nosed Reindeer. She's reading a book, but I see her phone propped on the pillow beside her.

She sighs heavily and puts the book aside as I slide gingerly into bed, trying not to disrupt the gauze I have taped against my belly button. I wince as the tape pulls.

"You're really lucky to have such a great family and to still have your dad." She sounds sad.

I think for a minute, squashing the urge to tell her she can take one or two of my brothers home with her, and try to see things from her point of view. The image of Dad downstairs just before I came up flashes in my mind, as does one of him dancing me around the table at dinner. Yeah, my dad is pretty awesome.

"You're lucky you have your sister." I point out the obvious gap in our family that can't be patched over with a room remodel. Carys is in my heart and thoughts all the time, especially at Christmas.

Katniss nods and picks imaginary lint off her blanket. "Yeah. I can't imagine what that would be like – to lose Prim."

"Was that a letter from her tonight?"

"Yeah. She wanted to tell me about school and the Christmas play, and ask me about Peeta." Katniss laughs harshly, presumably at the idea that she would have something to tell about Peeta. "She also included a letter from Haymitch."

"He's your mentor-guy, right? The dude who's paying for school?" I vaguely recall Katniss mentioning the guy she cleaned and did odd jobs for a couple of times since September. I assume he's a crotchety old miser who never trims his beard or his toenails. He looks a lot like Gandalf in my head, come to think of it.

"Yeah. He sent some money and a note." She resumes picking at the blanket like she has more to say.

I clear my throat. "Well, that was nice of him."

Katniss brushes a piece of hair off her forehead. "Oh, and Prim mentioned that Madge asked Gale to the Mayor's New Year's Eve party."

I raise an eyebrow; that seems rather forward for the Madge we left a week or so ago, and yet, I have to believe that there's a reason she did it. And a reason that Katniss is mentioning it now. "How do you feel about that?"

She meets my eyes for a minute before resuming her careful study of the blanket. "You sound like Dr. A. I'm not sure." She shrugs. "Change sucks, Jo. I've never had one mean good things – unless you count moving in with you – I guess I'm scared."

"Moving in with me was the best thing that ever happened to you."

She laughs. "I know. I didn't want things with Gale to change. Now _everything_ is changing. Maybe Annie's right and I need to start over." She sighs heavily. "Do you think Peeta is still mad? I've been texting him and sending him email, but he doesn't answer."

I answer honestly because I truly don't know what's running through his head at this point. "I don't know. Did you really make him a mixtape?"

She smiles slyly. "Yeah. Although I had to change up a couple of the songs your dad picked." She gives a delicate shudder. "I hope it works."

I imagine him trying to get her to put Van Halen, Genesis, or Robert Palmer on there and smirk. Katniss seems at least to be more of a Faith Hill or Miranda Lambert sort of girl. And Peeta? He doesn't seem like he's into any of the above.

I say the only thing I can think of, "So do I."

-o—

"Your dad wants you to be a model?" Katniss gasps with laughter over her red velvet pancakes.

"Well, he is fruity." I gesture to his Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity combo while taking another bite of my whole wheat pancakes with blueberries.

"What can I say? I'm secure in my manhood, especially when it comes to pancakes!" He punctuates his words with another bite covered in cinnamon apple goo. "Yeah. So his agent is coming over tomorrow to help us celebrate Christmas. Which I think means pressure to sign a contract." He rolls his eyes.

Katniss shakes her head. "I don't get you guys. I never thought my life was easy or simple, but it was. I just had to worry about survival."

I sneak a bit of the icing off her pancake. "Yeah, well, look where that got you."

We're sitting at an IHOP on Christmas Eve, eating breakfast and having our own little gift exchange in keeping with the Finn and Jo tradition. Finn's getting us up to speed on his dad and the letter he wrote to Annie.

"—I took your advice and just laid it all out there; I told her I apologized for being a dickhead and wouldn't bug her again."

"And?" Katniss demands.

Finn shrugs as he pushes his plate away. "No idea. I guess we'll have to wait and see. Let's open gifts!"

Katniss opens the My Little Pony underwear I got for her first. She laughs, especially when Finn makes a joke about keeping a rainbow hidden in her underwear.

I tell her, "It was either those or a thong with a bow and arrow, Ted Nugent style, on the front."

"I prefer commando, actually," she says. Finn almost spews coffee out of his nose.

I laugh, because that explains how she can wear those ultra-low jeans. "Good to know."

"Jo, open mine next." Finn shoves a package at me. When I rip it open, I see that he and I had similar ideas.

"Is that your cell number?" Katniss is trying to put together what she sees through the ripped wrapping.

I wordlessly hold up a pair of cotton panties. Finn has, indeed, had my cell number embroidered on the ass. I cock an eyebrow at him because he's already laughing so hard he's crying.

"Come on, Jo. They're great! Now you can just leave your panties behind if you like the guy. It's like an instant calling card. And I got you a five pack."

I shake my head. "How did you even have these made?"

"I know the guy who used to embroider our stuff for cheer. I gave him the panties and the rest is history. By the way, he said he's never been asked to embroider underwear before. Oh, and he's single; he told me he'd keep your number handy."

I don't even know how to respond to that, so I to laugh. If there's one thing Finnick Odair isn't missing, it's follow-through. I pass over my gift to him and he tears at it.

"Wax strips? And soothing after wax gel? Ah, Jo, you really do love my hardwood floors." He winks at me.

"I just know you like to have the right tools for the right job."

Katniss slides a package toward me. "Speaking of the right tools…" I find a pair of handcuffs inside almost identical to the ones I gave to Brian. "I thought these would come in handy for your next strip search."

"That's so sweet that I don't even know what to say, Everdeen," I say sincerely.

"You should make her promise never to use them on you as a joke," Finn tells Katniss sagely as he slides a gift bag her way.

He's got a point. I hope for her sake that she made an extra key.

She pulls the decorative tissue aside to unveil a pair of Captain America pajamas.

"I'd sleep with Captain America," I quip. Really, who wouldn't?

Finn laughs, knowing that I have a thing for Chris Evans. "Katniss, those were mine from when I was a little younger. Now, you can say that you've slept with Finn Odair."

"Oh, please. You probably slept in those until last year!" I crack. "You'll definitely want to wash those with bleach."

Katniss just laughs as she replaces the tissue paper and slides the last small gift bag to Finn, who unpacks it with relish.

"Your shampoo!" He holds a bottle of mint-thyme shampoo in one hand and a mint conditioner in the other.

She nods with a twinkle in her eye. "Yeah. Now you can say we've slept together _and_ showered together."

Finn answers her with a grin. "This is awesome! Best Christmas, ever."

It _is_ pretty awesome, I'll admit.

We laugh so hard we cry and then grab the check.

"Finn, can I ask you a favor?" I hear Katniss say as I make my way to the restroom. When I get back, she tells me that she's going to take a drive with Finn. "I'll see you at home, okay?"

"Sure," I tell her. My dad wants to take a ride to the marina, just the two of us. This will give us the perfect opportunity.

-o—

"I'm having so much fun!" a random, dark haired girl (was her name Clove? Nutmeg?) I knew in high school slurs as she walks by us. We're hanging out in Finn's rec room, which is different from his den, which is different from his library, which is different…

You get the idea. Finn's got a big house. He's throwing a party because his dad's left the country, again, after Finn declined to sign a contract with his agent.

"You went to school with these people?" She rolls her eyes.

"And everyone you knew was a freaking rocket scientist? The world needs ditch-diggers too, Everdeen." I raise my eyebrow at her. "Besides, we're just here so we don't have to celebrate New Year's Eve with my brothers."

"I like your brothers." She crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

"You can't kiss my brothers at midnight, as much as Charles might want you to." She's not oblivious to my little brother's crush and I can tell she's trying to be gentle with him.

Katniss grimaces as some goon from my football team pushes her against the wall when he walks by. "Are you going to use your new underwear on one of these guys?"

I snort. "Fuck no. Sleeping with one of these guys is like being at a sushi buffet and eating at the day old section. No. We're just going to play a little. You know, practice our flirting. And maybe sing a little karaoke."

"I do not sing in front of strangers. And I do _not_ flirt."

"Come on, Everdeen! Live a little." I throw an arm around her.

I get a lot of attention at the party, mostly for not being the stiff I was in high school. The fact that Finn and I are still _close_ gets mentioned a few times, and the captain of the football team, who barely knew my name in high school, whispers drunkenly in my ear that me and my girlfriend are smoking hot.

I'm feeling pleasantly numb a little later when I notice the Spice Girl we saw earlier sneering at me. "Is that your girlfriend, Mason? I always knew you were a dyke. No wonder you were a cheerleader."

Now, is that nice? Still, I'm feeling good enough that it's like I have an impenetrable force field around me and her words don't hurt. Not even the laughter from the football team bothers me. I eyeball the girl (Pepper? Cinnamon?) from her five inch heels, up her long legs, past her miniskirt that is really little more than a belt to linger on her pert breasts before landing my gaze on her face. She's moderately hot and she probably knows it. I briefly consider her allegation, wondering if that's an angry hetero pick-up line in disguise. When I determine that it probably is, I wag my finger at her. Because if the ultimate hotness that is Madge Undersee couldn't turn me, this imitation in front of me isn't even tempting.

Finn drolly interrupts before I can get a word out. "Jealous much?"

To illustrate his point, he starts dancing with both Katniss and I to prove the point that, no matter what we are, we're part of his protected inner circle and she should pound sand. Even Katniss plays it up, putting her arms around his neck while I grind against his backside like it's a privilege to do so. The girl gets the message and flounces off as much as her five inch heels will allow.

We crack up after she leaves and a few of the braver members of the football team ask us to dance. What the hell, right? I end up playing with a few tight ends before a few of their girlfriends call holding penalties. I toss in the towel just as the countdown to midnight starts and look around for Everdeen and Finn.

I find her in Finn's bedroom, talking on her cell phone. Well, she's not really talking; she's sort of hiccuping loudly and sniffling. Finally, she throws the phone and herself on the bed and starts to cry.

"Katniss, what's wrong? Who was that? Is everything okay?" I don't think I've seen her so distraught.

She turns her red face away from me so I can't see her swollen eyes. "I just wanted to see how his Christmas was. Is that so wrong? I just wanted to hear his voice."

The door flies open and Finn rushes in. "You guys missed the ball drop." He stops short when he sees Katniss on his bed. "Is she gonna puke? If she's gonna puke, we need to get her off my twelve hundred count sheets."

"Finn, Katniss drunk dialed Peeta."

"Well, that's sweet," Finn says, which produces a fresh sniffle from her prone form.

She whines from the bed. "He told me that he couldn't talk because he didn't want to wake his mother. He didn't want to _talk_. What does that mean?"

"It's three in the morning on the East Coast." I think I whisper it, but I'm still pretty tipsy. Obviously, I'm still sober enough to do math, though, which my friends are clearly not.

"Fuck," he says in awe.

"Katniss, Peeta's mom is pretty terrible, right? I mean, that's what I've heard. So maybe he did just want to get off the phone so he didn't get in trouble." I sit on the edge of the bed and pat her arm in what I hope is a consoling gesture.

"I'm so stupid! All the texts and emails and jokes I've been sending him and he hasn't once replied. And I got that stupid tattoo –"

"What?" I interrupt.

She rolls over and looks me morosely. "Christmas Eve, Finn took me to get a tattoo."

"Finn?" I swing my eyes to him, but he's already looking at the floor.

"She asked nicely, Jo. She wanted to give herself a Christmas gift." He shrugs his shoulders in an adorable gesture. There's just one problem, though: I'm immune to the Odair charm.

Katniss throws an arm over her eyes, blocking out the light. "And now I'll be marked by Peeta _for life."_

I'm sure Peeta would love to hear that.

Finn warms to an idea, practically bouncing up and down in his enthusiasm. "I know! You should write him an email, right now, telling him how you feel about him and the whole Gale thing. Like I did with Annie! You should start the New Year fresh." He pulls out his desk chair, opens his laptop and signs in. I don't think I've ever seen Katniss move that quickly. She's off the bed and writing Peeta fan mail faster than I can blink.

My muddled brain tries to think of a reason she shouldn't be doing this, but I don't come up with much. Sure, we're all a little drunk. But Finn's helping her, so it won't get totally x-rated. Frankly, I'm more curious if she's going to tell him about the tattoo.

_What the hell did she get done?_

-o-

"—a tree."

"No."

"A cupcake."

"No. Now will you stop guessing? Your mom is going to be back in the room any second." Katniss watches the door for the reappearance of Barb. We're watching a John Hughes movie marathon with her a few days before we go back to school and I'm haunted by the tattoo whose shape I still haven't guessed.

"A motorcycle."

"Nope." Katniss pops the _p._ "I am not going to tell you, will you cut it out?"

"Peeta's going to think it's so hot."

"He didn't even respond to my drunken ramble of a letter, Jo. You know, the one you and Finn didn't dissuade me from sending and then we couldn't recall? Yeah, that one. And he never called me back on New Year's Day. I doubt highly that he's going to be interested in my tattoo."

"Is it my fault that you need the _beer goggles_ feature of Gmail enabled? Look, the tattoo could be the game-changer. Just tell me what it is? And, to be fair, you did say he responded to the letter."

Katniss snorts. "Yeah. He said five words."

" _Thanks, see you at school_ is still a response." I snag some of Everdeen's popcorn.

She flops down on the couch. "Long Duk Dong gets a girlfriend. He can barely speak the language! What am I doing wrong?"

"Maybe you're talking too much. Send him a picture of the tattoo." I lick the butter off my fingers: Barb makes the best fucking popcorn on the planet. She uses an actual pan with oil in the bottom, then melts real butter for the top and tosses it all in a big bowl. It's like an explosive corn kernel orgy.

"I don't think so."

I whine, "At least tell me where it is?"

Katniss ignores me as she spies Barb coming into the room with two gift bags. She sits in between us. "Ladies, I thought that, in honor of Samantha Baker's birthday, you each deserved a little gift."

I know this is actually because Barb didn't get to give either of us gifts on Christmas. Only the boys got gifts from my parents, making me eternally grateful to Dad for making things less awkward for Katniss.

"Katniss, you first." She hands Katniss a gift bag. "I thought it would go well with those gorgeous painted jeans you wear."

Everdeen squirms uncomfortably but then dives into the bag like she can't help herself. She pulls out a sheer peasant blouse that ties at the neckline and has flowing sleeves. It's the exact deep, pinkish red at the center of the hibiscus that decorates the thigh of her jeans and will look amazing with Katniss's dark hair and skin.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mason. This is beautiful. It's too much, really, with everything you've done for me this break."

"Nonsense! You're part of the family now, Katniss."

Mom turns to me with another bag. "Your turn, Jo."

I wonder what baby pink atrocity is going to be in the bag. I reach in and pull out a rag doll that looks like a mermaid. My eyes fill with tears the minute I see it. Katniss mumbles something about using the restroom and gets the hell out of there as soon as she sees my tears.

"We didn't get rid of all of it, honey. It was just too hard to see it every day and not see _her._ That doesn't mean she's not in our hearts and our thoughts. She'll always be with us."

I put my nose to the doll and breathe deeply, but any scent of Carys is long gone, just like the bed where she used to sleep with this doll every night. I hug the doll to me like it's the most precious of gifts and let my Mom hug me until the tears subside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Well, this was a long one! I hope it shows enough of a progression for our friends. Comments and reviews are always welcome. There is a lot of food in this chapter. Yes, I was very, very hungry while writing it. I posted several recipes from this chapter during the week- most of the mentions are real "things" – onto my Tumblr recipes page: johannaismyspiritguide dot tumbr dot com slash recipes. Yes, the fruitcake is one of the recipes.)


	23. Back to Fairfield (A Connecticut Outtake)

Gale trudges determinedly across the square to Mellark's Bakery, burrowing further into the brightly-knit scarf his mom knitted as a Christmas gift last year. He's forgotten how cold Fairfield can be during the winter, or maybe the L.A. sun has already made his blood thinner. His gloves, last season's from the ninety-nine cent bin at Target, don't do much to keep his fingers from tingling so he pushes them further into the pocket of his dad's old Army coat. He makes a mental note to bring in more wood for the stove tonight or it's bound to be another cold one. It's something Gale steadfastly makes sure of: no matter what, his brothers and sister will not be cold.

 He's on a fool's errand, but it seemed like the right thing to do when he woke up this morning. Ever since returning home, he's felt like Los Angeles is a million miles away and everything there happened to a completely different guy. He shakes his head when thoughts of Katniss and Peeta come to mind. He's still not sure that kissing Katniss was the right thing to do. He just knew that he had to do _something_. He's pretty sure he has his answer in the way she had argued with him that they were never meant to be together. Her staunch denial that she even wanted to try a relationship had put the final nail in the proverbial coffin, but it had also alienated one of his fraternity brothers.

He wonders if Peeta will talk to him at all.

The warmth of the bakery is almost overwhelming as the bell jingles overhead and Gale has to unwrap his scarf to let the warmth and the symphony of smells overtake him. He sourly wonders if Peeta has ever been cold at night and has to remind himself why he's here in the first place.

"Gale Hawthorne!" Mr. Mellark comes around the counter and gives him a bear hug that has Gale wincing.

He gives the older man the same tight smile as always. "Hi, Mr. Mellark. Is Peeta around?"

"I thought you were going to call me Bran. He's in back – let me go get him. I'll package up some things for your family, too."

"Mr. Mellark, that's not necess—"

"Bah! Humbug! It's Christmas, Gale!"

Gale smirks and tugs off his gloves as Mr. Mellark's curls bob enthusiastically in time with his retreating steps.

Gale hears him calling Peeta and then the heavy steps of his fraternity brother plod toward him. Gale doesn't anticipate a warm welcome, but he's shocked when he sees Peeta's face: a bruise covers his cheekbone, the reddish-purple perhaps a day or two old at most. He swallows hard: everyone at school used to talk about how Mrs. Mellark's temper got out of hand sometimes. It was one thing to hear about it, though, and another to see it. Gale's relationship with his own mother is strong and respectful; he can't even fathom Peeta's reality.

"Gale." Peeta's voice is cool.

"Hi. Can we talk?" The dark haired boy motions outside. He doesn't want to have this conversation in the warmth of the bakery where anyone can hear.

Peeta nods and they make their way down the recently-salted front steps to the frosty square.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks Peeta, who seems perfectly comfortable in his apron and Mellark's t-shirt.

"I'm fine. What's up?"

Gale can't meet the blue eyes that seem so _normal,_ compared to just a few nights ago, when Peeta had been the angriest Gale had ever seen him. "I'm sorry." The words come out in a rush, as if Gale's windpipe were blocked with them. He takes a deep breath and says it again, stronger this time. "I'm sorry."

Peeta nods. "Yeah, I know. Me too. It was always going to be you, Gale."

"I was a douche-bag – what?"

Peeta runs his hands through short hair that's not much more than stubble. "She was always going to end up with you. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for moving in on her. I was jealous of you before I even really knew her and I guess I just got ahead of myself." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "My mom's always saying I get too carried away with stuff. I guess she's right."

"L.A. will do that," Gale says, drily. His brows furrow. "Peet, I don't think you have a reason to be jealous: Katniss and I aren't together. We're not going to be together." Gale thinks he should feel _something_ when he says those words, but he doesn't. It's like a question has finally been answered for him. "Maybe if we'd stayed here, that might not be true. But in L.A., we're all different – you and me and Katniss. I got scared because she turned me down at the end of the summer and I told myself that she just didn't want a relationship with anyone and I could wait it out. Then I saw her with _you_ and it hurt to realize that she just doesn't want _me_ , at least, not like that. I had to put that to the test." He takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. "So I'm sorry, Peet. That's what I came here to say." Gale shuffles his feet in the cold earth. He can't feel the tips of his fingers and he can't imagine how cold Peeta's head is.

"No apology needed - but thanks. She doesn't want me, either."

Gale's gray eyes meet Peeta's frank, blue ones. "Don't be too sure of that; I saw you two together. Has she texted or called?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. Why?"

Gale gives the clueless man across from him a twisted smirk. "I haven't heard from her since that dinner. She didn't even speak to me when they came to say goodbye for break. We didn't talk for two months at the beginning of the semester but she can't go a week without trying to get in touch with you. That should tell you something." He can't help asking again as he shivers, "Isn't your head cold?"

Peeta laughs, his confusion over Gale's words disappearing. "You have no idea - it's like walking around with your pants around your ankles. I forgot how damn _cold_ it gets here. I keep telling myself I'll get used to it."

"You okay?" Gale points at Peeta's bruised cheek.

"Yeah. Thanks for coming by." He holds out his hand for Gale to shake, like they're back on even ground.

Gale takes the outstretched hand. "Listen. If you ever need a place to crash or anything…." He feels his cheeks get warm, which only ratchets up his awareness of how cold it is.

Peeta ignores him as he looks toward the bakery where he spots a familiar blonde in a black cashmere dress coat. "Isn't that Madge?" He sends a sly look in Gale's direction. "You know, I have it on good authority that Madge had a thing for you in high school."

Gale sighs in relief now that the hard part of the conversation is over. "Really?"

"Really. You'd be a fool to pass that up, you know. Since we're here for a few weeks, you could even make a move without Odair horning in." The boys laugh at the idea of Finn hanging around Madge.

"I think Odair has his hands full with Annie," Gale says absently, watching as Mrs. Mellark gestures wildly at the smaller, blonde woman.

"I better get back: Mom's in a mood." Peeta rubs his hair again. "Thanks for coming by."

"I owed it to you."

Peeta waves farewell and makes his way to the bakery, passing Madge at the top of the stairs. He notices two bright spots of color on her cheeks; he's willing to bet his mother said something to make Madge angry. Her pursed lips and sparkling violet eyes confirm it as much as her rushed hello.

Gale tracks their movements as the two pass each other. He sees Peeta's shoulders slump as he re-enters the bakery, and watches through the window as Mrs. Mellark begins yelling at her youngest son, following him through the swinging shutters that separate the warm and welcoming front room to the darkness beyond. He frowns. Perhaps he should go inside –

It barely registers that Madge is moving quickly down the steps until he sees a blur as she slips on the last step. He realizes with a jolt that he will never make it in time to stop her from falling, but he runs toward her anyway.

-o—

Steely-gray eyes assess the damage immediately. Her hands must sting something fierce, her left knee is going to sport a huge bruise, and her tights are ripped. She winces as she gets to her feet gingerly, brushing salt that sticks to her away with a grimace.

"Madge, here, let me help you." Gale frowns and stares at the blood on her leg and hands as he fumbles in his coat pocket for the old but clean bandana he uses as a handkerchief.

"I'm alright." Madge brushes his hands away, embarrassed by her clumsiness. Her mother would tell her she should have more poise.

Gale gets the impression that she's angry, although her voice is quiet and well-modulated as always. "You're not alright!" He surprises himself when he offers, "Let me walk you home. You won't be able to carry your packages with that hand, anyway."

Her eyes snap violet fire, making him forget about the cold or how much her knee and hands must sting. She pushes a stray blonde hair away from her face and looks away. When she looks back, the fire is gone as quickly as it arrived and she murmurs, "Thank you."

Gale helps Madge up the front steps of her home after the short and silent walk. He reads the shock on her face when he takes the key from her gloved hands and opens the door. They each clean their feet before heading further into the foyer. Gale stacks the packages on a side table next to a large crystal bowl filled with pine boughs, sugared fruit, and Christmas ornaments.

He's been in Madge's home a few times: birthday parties where she invited everyone in their class and a Halloween party where he remembers bobbing for apples and dripping water up her basement stairs, making it slick enough that Bristol Quinn fell and broke her arm. Back then the grandeur of the house with its oil paintings and ornately-carved wood furniture had him in awe. Later, once his father had passed away, it had made him angry and aware of exactly what his family lacked compared to hers.

He realizes that it seems grander and louder in his memories. The place has the acoustics of a library or a church, the grandfather clock at the base of the stairs the only sound not swallowed up by the deep blue carpeting below white wainscoting. The room is fastidiously clean, neither too hot nor too cold, careful, purposeful. Gale can't help but feel as if it's waiting for something or someone to come and liven it up. He's more used to cozy spaces that echo with the laughter of his brothers and sisters, the comings and goings of his mother's tailoring clients, and the distinctive whirring of her sewing machine.

Madge unbuttons her coat and Gale immediately takes it upon himself to slide it from her shoulders. It smells like her - something soft and vanilla.

She looks at him through long lashes. "Would you hang it next to the door?" When he does, she dismisses him, "Thank you so much for walking me home. I can manage from here."

Normally, Gale would nod and be on his way. Today, though, he doesn't have anywhere to be: nothing needs to be done at home and the kids are all in school. Truth be told, he's been sort of bored since coming home. On top of that, he recalls Peeta's words and wonders at the truth to his statement: is it really possible that Madge Undersee, the cool and collected princess he's known his whole life, might like him? He glances her way, taking in her slightly tousled hair and rosy cheeks.

He shoves his hand in his back pocket and shrugs. "I don't have anywhere to be. Let me at least get you cleaned up. After all, I'm an expert at cleaning skinned knees what with Rory, Vick, and Posy." Her lips thin into a straight line. Before she can argue, he takes her elbow and guides her up the stairs to where he assumes her room is. He has to let her lead the way when he can't decide if it's the left hallway or the right.

"Nice room," he says as she pushes open the door and he gets his first glimpse of a place he's sure not many have seen.

It's the size of his living room and kitchen combined and is even quieter than the foyer downstairs. He shifts from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable amidst the delicate white furniture and white and sky blue wallpaper. Blue Delft tiles frame the small fireplace, and even the carpet reminds him of the sky on a spring day: he feels like a bull in a china shop. Gratefully he spies the adjoining bath. With new purpose, he tugs off his gloves and unbuttons his coat while he strides purposefully toward it. Laying his jacket on the counter, he surveys the many drawers and cabinets.

"Where do you keep your first aid stuff?" He feels the air move as she joins him. Suddenly the room seems much too small.

"Gale, you don't have to -" She takes a sharp breath when he opens and shuts the cabinet under the sink where she keeps her extra toilet paper and tampons. "It's the bottom drawer."

"Sit." He commands while he gathers what he needs. "Do you have a washcloth that can get a little bloody? We need to clean the scrapes." When he has bandages, peroxide, Neosporin and a warm washcloth, he turns to her and frowns. "I think you should get those tights off."

Madge's hair falls in front of her face as if she's embarrassed. "I can't get my boots off if I can't bend my knee."

Gale immediately squats next to her and grasps the foot of her uninjured leg. "Let's take care of that." He tugs once, then again more forcefully until her foot slides from her black boots. He repeats it with the foot of her injured leg, gently massaging her arch.

He can't help but catch Madge's wistful smile. "What?" he asks as he cradles her foot in his hand.

Her smile disappears as two dots of color appear on her cheeks. "Nothing...I...uh...I was just thinking that princes in fairy tales are usually putting the princess's shoes _on_."

He looks down at where her foot, clad in a gray stocking, rests against his dark jeans. Giving her foot one more squeeze, he places it carefully on the tile floor and grabs the washcloth. "Hands, please?"

He carefully glides the washcloth over her palms, taking extra care to rinse it out a couple of times. He knows it's overkill, but he likes the feel of her hands in his: trusting, warm, soft and wet. He likes even more her steady gaze as she watches him work. He likes it so much that he almost forgets himself for a moment and leans in to kiss her, stopping himself just in time.

When he figures that he's taken enough time with her hands, he rises. "You should take off your tights. I'll just turn my back - What are you doing?" He doesn't mean for his voice to crack when she slides her navy sweater dress up her thigh, but it's so _unexpected_ coming from Madge that he's stunned.

She catches the top edge of her thigh-high stocking in her thumbs and carefully rolls it toward her ankle. She seems oblivious to his shock when she says matter-of-factly, "Taking off my stockings." She casually drops it in the trash can, then makes short work of the other stocking.

He can't tear his eyes away from the pale skin of her inner thighs. Sure, she's worn shorts that have shown more skin. Hell, the night of the strip-poker party and on Halloween, he saw her in a lot less. But there's something about her fingers deftly rolling a stocking down her leg that is going to stick with him forever. He focuses on her toenails which are painted with a black glitter polish completely at odds with the placid blue of the room.

Gale closes his eyes briefly and prays for the sudden tightness in his jeans to dissipate before she notices as he squats next to her again and gently cleans her knee. He swallows repeatedly to keep from trailing his fingers up her dress to the exact spot where her stockings had rested. It's a battle, but he wins it, barely.

"Johanna's rubbing off on you." He says it gruffly like an accusation, as he trails the pads of his thumbs around her knee to squeeze her calf.

She huffs and pushes her hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes when they meet his are startlingly direct. "I hope she is."

Gale stands abruptly and rinses the washcloth, needing a moment to compose himself. As he wipes his hands on his Rangers t-shirt, he closes his eyes to square his shoulders. He hears her rip open a bandage and cover the worst scrape, then he feels a hand on his shoulder. She's close enough that her light fragrance teases him.

"Gale? Can I ask you something? Have you...have you ever thought about kissing me?"

His breath leaves him in a rush as her words sink in. "Madge...this isn't a good idea."

"It's a simple question." Her voice is as calm as if she's discussing the weather or homework.

"Yes," he wants to chuckle but it comes out a strangled sound. " _Yes._ You're beautiful; of _course_ I've thought about it."

She tugs his arm so he's close enough to see the motes of silver and sapphire in her eyes and he knows what will come next. For the first time, he wonders if this is a dream. Her hand rests on his arm, not a caress but a connection, while his own hands grip the countertop so hard that the edge of it actually causes him pain. She inclines her head forward, slowly leaning in. He's taller than she is, though, so he knows that he'll have to move as well. Does he want to? He's more afraid of what will change between them than the actual kiss. He leans in enough to see the faint rim of eyeliner and the chicken pox scar on her temple that she normally covers with her bangs. He's not sure who closes the final distance, but he keeps his hands firmly on the countertop while his lips touch hers and her eyelids close. Her lips are as soft as the rest of her, dewy as a rose petal. He barely has time to register their texture and taste when she pulls back.

"Madge?" He barely keeps from leaning in again and capturing her lips with his. Kissing her may not be a good idea, but he's thought about it off and on since her saw her playing strip poker with Johanna.

She shakes her head and touches her fingers to her lips. "I just had to know, Gale. Isn't that what you said about Katniss? That you just had to know?"

They stare each other down as Gale wonders what went wrong. Sure, it wasn't an earthshattering kiss. But it wasn't worth total rejection, either. Finally, he grabs his coat from the bathroom. "I'll just let myself out."

"Wait. Gale, I'm making a total mess of this. Look, my father throws a New Year's Eve party—"

"I know. It's for the local merchants and mucky-mucks." It's Gale's turn to grimace. The party is a big deal and invitations are scarce and highly coveted. It's all people talk about for weeks afterward.

Madge pushes her hair behind her shoulder defiantly. "That's the one. Come as my guest?" At his expression of disbelief, she comes to stand in front of him. "Please, Gale?"

He looks at the top of her blonde head, marveling at her perfectly straight part. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask why she's asking him now, why she's chosen him, when he thinks the better of it. "Sure," he says quietly.

-o-

His suit, only worn for graduations, funerals, and the odd wedding, doesn't fit. He assumes that's a sign that he shouldn't even consider showing his wrong-side-of-the-tracks face at the Mayor's party. That's what he tells his mother when he returns to the kitchen where she is sewing a Christmas dress for Posy in what she calls her "spare time". The phrase makes Gale want to laugh: every moment that Hazelle doesn't spend with her kids, she spends with nimble fingers stitching cloth. She stitches so they can eat. She stitches so they can keep warm. Some nights, after all of the kids are in bed, she admits that she stitches to keep the fear of poverty and sickness at bay, and to keep her heart from breaking.

Hazelle stops her sewing and turns to him. "You're going, Gale. It was a huge honor to be invited." He recognizes the stubborn tilt of her jaw because he's seen it in the mirror often enough and he's wise enough to hold his tongue instead of argue. She takes a cursory look at him as if sizing him up, then rises and goes down the small hallway of their tidy but crowded home.

Gale shrugs and makes himself a sandwich. Whereas back at school he would pile on the toppings, he's careful to use the peanut butter and grape jelly sparingly; it seems that there are always hungry mouths to feed in the Hawthorne household. He's noticed that Posy needs new shoes, and she could use a bike of her own so she doesn't have to walk to school. He sighs. Perhaps when he's back in Los Angeles, he should get a steady job and send some money home. He knows that Hazelle will put up a fight, but she'll take it when she sees the good it can do for Vick, Rory, and Posy.

"This should fit, I think." He startles and drops the peanut butter knife to the kitchen floor. He's forgotten how quietly she walks. She waits for him to wipe up the spill before coming to him and holding a charcoal jacket for him to try on. "Your father was a little broader, but a nip and tuck here and there should make it perfect."

She's right: the jacket fits almost perfectly. "You saved this?" He fingers the soft wool, running a hand along the lapel.

She doesn't bother hiding the wetness of her eyes. "Yes. I thought you might fit in it one day. He had another, the one we were married in, but I think that style is a little too old-fashioned." She deftly pins and marks where it will need to be tailored then pulls back to survey her work one more time. "Go try the pants."

She pushes him toward the hallway and the small bathroom they all share as Rory and Primrose Everdeen come in from the cold, laughing and snow covered. Rory takes one look at Gale and bursts out laughing, but quiets sheepishly when Hazelle tells him to mind his manners. Gale notices that Prim's eyes are wide and she whispers something to Rory.

"No, Prim, no one died. Gale's just going to the Mayor's New Year's Eve party." Rory sounds like he's chiding even as his chest swells with pride at his older brother's accomplishment. "Madge Undersee herself asked him."

Gale smiles at his brother even as he feels Hazelle's gentle prodding again. A part of him, the part that's still hurt over Katniss and holds a grudge, hopes that Prim tells her sister.

-o-

Gale barely recognizes himself in the mirror as Hazelle straightens the white French cuffs of his gray and white striped, tailored shirt. She had surprised him with it, as well as the black, gray, and purple tie, and his dad's silver cufflinks for Christmas. He had run his hands over the shirt fabric again and again even as he protested that it was worth dance lessons for Posy or some new books for Rory, or even a skateboard and pads for Vick. Hazelle had just smiled and patted his hand while the other kids ripped open their few toys and a package of underwear and socks each.

"No woman can resist French cuffs. You look so handsome." Hazelle's voice breaks him out of his reverie as she holds the charcoal blazer. When he's slid into it, she smoothes the fine fit over his shoulders. "So much like your father—"

"Ma, come here." Gale opens his arms to enfold her in a hug. She barely comes to his shoulder now. When did she get so small?

Hazelle sniffles noisily, pulling away. "We just had it dry cleaned. Mustn't ruin it." She pats his arm and crosses to her closet. "Now, let's get you a coat – we can't have you freezing to death on your way to the party." She returns with a black wool dress coat and scarf.

Gale stares at it like it might bite: he remembers riding on the shoulders of that coat when he was not much older than Posy. He would complain about how boring church was on Sundays, his parents having made him get up early for service. He was so sleepy, he would whine, that he couldn't possibly walk all the way home. His father would smile at him with his strong, white teeth brilliant against his olive skin and swing Gale up to his shoulders telling him _hang on and let your old man carry the weight._ He would grip his father's dark hair all the way home on a ride that suddenly seemed too short, shrieking all the while.

"Take it, Gale," Hazelle urges quietly. "He would be so very proud of you."

She shows him how to layer the scarf first, crossing it over his necktie so that it protects the area exposed by the coat. Gale has known how to tie a necktie since he was Vick's age. A winter dress coat is another matter - by the time he was old enough to need one, they were putting money into essentials like food and heat. The combination of coat on top of blazer feels odd to him, claustrophobic.

"You'll be alright tonight?" He holds her gaze in the mirror. This is the first time that he's not spent New Year's with his family. Posy had cried when he had told her he wouldn't be watching as they tried to stay awake for the ball drop. "I won't be home late."

"You had better be home late, after all of my hard work!" She swats his arm. "Stay as late as you like. And you know I don't say _that_ often, so take advantage of it."

-o—

There isn't a line at the front door, and the coats in the coat check room are plentiful. Gale supposes he must be fashionably late, which is fine by him: he'd rather not be the first person at any party. He wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, wondering if he should button the suit jacket.

He walks into the formal living room and looks around. Festive pine boughs decorate the mantle and almost every other flat surface while candles and a small fire give the room a soft glow. They, along with the people milling about and talking quietly, make the room almost stiflingly warm. He doesn't see anyone he knows short of the Mayor who is in a corner talking to a fellow local politician who seems just a bit too sweaty. He takes a hors d'oeuvre from a passing waiter so he can have something to do with his hands and thinks about his next course of action.

"Gale? Over here!" The Mayor gestures him over with a smile. "This is my friend, Tom McDonald. Tom, this is Gale Hawthorne."

Gale shakes hands with the sweating man and decides Madge's father doesn't need to know that Hazelle tailors Tom's suits.

The oblivious Mayor continues, "We were just discussing the government shut down. Tom here believes that Congress did what was necessary and prudent given our debt. I, on the other hand, think that's hogwash. The President should not be held hostage by Congress. A Congress that should be able to agree that we have a healthcare crisis in this country and come up with some creative financing that does not resound with the _I'll just take my ball and go home_ sort of politics. Where do you weigh in?"

Gale looks from one man to the other, weighing his options. "Well, sir," he clears his throat, "I think that a Congress that stops serving its constituents to further its own ends had best beware of the measures such constituents may take in order to be heard."

Both men consider his words for a moment before the Mayor breaks into a smile. "Well said, Mr. Hawthorne. Tom, you watch this young man – in ten or fifteen years, Gale will have my job."

Gale knows there's nothing he wants less than to be stuck in small town politics in ten years. No, he's decided that he is going to either break into the national political scene as rapidly as he can or stay private sector, where the big money is. He just can't see the lure of having to schmooze with people like Tom McDonald: people who treat those without the right occupation, education, or location with less than their full respect.

"Mr. Undersee, as long as you run, you'll always have my vote," Gale says sincerely. "Have you seen Madge?"

Mr. Undersee points to another room. "Madge is probably in the library or talking to the caterers in the kitchen. Her mother isn't feeling well tonight, so Madge is acting as my hostess."

"Thank you. It's been a pleasure, gentlemen." Gale gives a little half-wave.

He passes quite a few people he knows in other rooms as he hunts for Madge. By the time he finds her, he's tired of pleasantries but oh-so-thankful that a cocktail weenie and a glass of punch have saved him from shaking any more hands. After fruitlessly making the rounds, he throws away the long cold pig-in-a-blanket and wipes his hands on a cloth napkin, promising himself that he'll grab some of the food later. He's never been at a party where waiters pass out a seemingly unending stream of appetizers and he looks forward to gorging himself after he finds her.

He assumes she'll need to talk to the caterers and figures the most likely place to catch her is close to the kitchen. He waits there patiently, not even realizing that his very stance and confidence are drawing others in the room to him. He tires of their conversation even as he is frustrated that a glimpse of her eludes him.

She finds him in the end, her eyes making little prickles of awareness travel up his spine until he has to look around for the cause. He pauses in his conversation to take in the sight of her. She is not dressed in her usual blue or violet - shades of sky and moonbeams and starlight – blending in to the darkness. Her dress is as hot as the blood pumping through him at the sight of her slender, bare neck and shoulders, the valley of her breasts accentuated with some sort of beading that twinkles and draws the eye. Her lips , as red as her dress, arrest him; plump and alluring they remind him of their gentle touch against his.

The quiet and demure Madge is gone; in her place is a princess of firelight.

She turns to him more fully, her dress swaying and clinging to long legs, earrings bobbing. When she quirks a smile his way, the flash of desire is so fast and furious, so _unexpected_ , that he needs to close his eyes against the image of crushing her against him while he explores every inch of her with his hands and lips. He wants her and the thought is infuriating and perplexing as he walks to the punchbowl at the side of the room. She follows, and the role reversal of hunter and hunted makes him almost as uncomfortable as being half-hard around her. He is oddly on edge, defensive.

"Hello, Princess. Great dress." He smirks in an attempt to cover his discomfort and get back on even footing.

Her smile, so genuine a moment ago, twists. "Hello, Gale. You look handsome."

He preens a bit, straightening his jacket with a tug, smoothing his tie. "I clean up pretty well, don't I? You'd never know I'm a kid from across town – I almost look like I belong." He winks in an attempt at levity that falls flat. He knows this conversation isn't going well, but he can't seem to get it on track. Every move she makes has him more flustered and aware of her. When she daintily picks a strawberry and offers him one, he can't look away from her teeth piercing the flesh and then sucking gently.

"You've always belonged, Gale. If anything, it's the rest of us who have waited patiently for you to accept us." Her eyes are direct and burn straight down to his soul. He swears she can see everything he's thinking. Gale can't recall the last time he blushed but he feels one work up his neck now and it makes him want to tug at his tie.

"I wish you would see that it's not _us versus them_. Truthfully, it never has been," she reaches out to squeeze his arm. "I thought coming tonight would help you see how well you fit in."

He studies her upturned face, her smooth skin calling to him. She is close enough that he can see where her pulse beats steadily at the base of her throat so unlike the erratic pounding through his own veins. He remembers wanting her this badly on Halloween and attributing it to the beer but he hasn't had a drop of alcohol all night.

"Gale? Are you alright? You look flushed. Let me get you some water." She shoots him a concerned glance, returning to his side a moment later with a glass of ice water. "It is pretty warm in here –"

Someone bumps her elbow and ice water splashes upward. Madge gasps as it hits her at the base of her neck and shoulders and makes a trail that disappears into her dress. At least, Gale hopes that the gasp is because of that and not because she's jostled against him. He's sure she can feel him – really notice the cause of his distraction - when she gives another small gasp, eyes widening.

"Madge – I'm – I'm sorry." He shakes his head and firmly pushes her away before striding off. He's got to get control of himself. This is Madge, for Christ's sake, untouchable and cool under pressure. She's probably terrified of his dark, brooding, and intense looks, never mind his hard-on. Her father is his scholarship sponsor, and Madge is a close friend. He can't afford to lose another one because he's misread the situation and can't control what is fast becoming an overwhelming desire.

-o—

_You are an idiot. Maybe you should change your name to 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'. You know, like that time you slept with Johanna because she was Katniss's roommate, or let Madge tie you up and read you poetry on Halloween,_ Gale thinks to himself. Neither of those had been total disasters, but he wouldn't call them tremendous successes either, and tonight has turned out to be no different.

He's positive she's been tormenting him on purpose. Since her eyes had widened in recognition earlier when she brushed against him, she seems to have spent an inordinate amount of time drawing his eyes. Whether it's her hands caressing her throat or the stem of a champagne glass, or touching a classmate of theirs while talking, or playing the piano when her father had asked, he's been unable to stop watching her. It's bizarre. The few times she's met his eyes as they follow her, her own have darkened in answer to a question neither has spoken aloud. He'd had to remind himself repeatedly throughout the night that this was _Madge._

As he's getting his coat from coat check, the Mayor stops him. "Heading home, Gale?"

"Yes, sir, it's late and I'm up early with the kids. We always go to Mellark's for breakfast on New Year's."

"Ah. There's nothing more important than family. Give my regards to your mother and have a bear claw for me." He pats his stomach, his tone laced heavily with regret, "My doctor says I need to watch my cholesterol."

Gale nods. Mellark's truly does have the best Danishes. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"I was happy when Madge said she invited you and you said yes. Have you said goodbye to her? I'm sure she's here somewhere." The older man's eyes flit around the room.

"No, uh, tell her goodnight for me? She and I'll catch up before we head back to school," Gale stammers. He ignores the question in the Mayor's eyes as they snap back to his, "Goodnight, sir. And Happy New Year."

He's halfway down the curved driveway when he hears the determined click of heels on asphalt.

"You were leaving without saying goodnight?" Madge's voice is more than angry– it's vibrating. He's not sure he's ever heard her voice quite like this.

"I couldn't find you." He keeps his tone calm, his eyes level, like he's dealing with an unpredictable animal, as he turns to face her.

"Did you even try?" She calls him on it. Her hands rest on her hips and her breasts heave. She is a rose kissed by the light of the full moon, a crimson shadow against the glitter of snow and the luminaries that line the drive. She looks as fresh and perfect as she did hours ago when he arrived. He idly wonders how much work it takes to be that perfect.

Gale runs his hands through his hair. "Madge, it's freezing out and you don't have a coat. Go back inside –"

"No." Her voice is strident. "Stop avoiding the question. Why are you sneaking out of the house without saying goodnight?"

He looks off to the trees at the edge of the road. "I think I overstepped a boundary tonight and I…I just wanted to reset the clock."

"By walking out? You thought that would make things _better_?" She crosses her arms. "You are an idiot, Gale Hawthorne – you and Peeta both think you've got it all figured out. Your whole future is planned with these fantasies of people. But we're not fantasies, Gale. We're real."

Gale tries not to fixate on how her arms push her breasts upward. He's sure she would be alarmed to know what sort of fantasy he's imagining about her at that very second.

"You need to make up your mind: am I a friend, or an enemy from across town? Because I'm exhausted trying to keep up with the lines you draw and redraw when they suit you. I'm not waiting anymore for you to decide. Right here and right now, let's start off the year with some clarity. What am I to you?"

Gale stares at her like he's never seen her before. He's not sure if he should kiss her or hold her or escort her to the house, back to her father. Who is she? She's Madge. He can't describe what she is to him, especially after tonight. He's smart enough to know, though, that almost anything he says is going to be the wrong thing.

She shakes with anger, or maybe the cold is finally sinking in. Either way, she fists her hands at her side when she confronts him. "I expected a lot of things from you, Gale. Maybe I've got a fantasy version of you in my head, too," she doesn't notice his start at that piece of information, "but I never imagined you to be a coward."

Gale feels the sharp wound of her words. He has put up with many insults in his life, but that one word is untenable and requires payback. He's pretty sure she knows it. At least it gives him something to focus on besides her skin and the sparkle of her eyes.

So he drawls, as he crosses his arms across his own chest, "Well, well, well. The Princess has a temper."

"I've got a lot of fire. Maybe you've just never noticed it," she bites off as she closes the distance and she pulls his head down to smash her lips against his.

Her lips are cold, her arms even more so where they touch his neck and snake into his jacket to splay against his back. She shudders against him and he can't help his own arms from sliding around her, his lips softening against hers to cling and share warm, mingling breath. She tastes like champagne and strawberries, sweet and forbidden, and he doesn't care if she notices that he's hard again when she brushes against him. This creature of darkness in a dress the color of blood is a fairy, a snow-siren who looks and smells and tastes like Madge. Surely, she'll forgive him for gathering her so close that he's not sure where his own warmth ends and hers begins.

He's short of breath when he comes up for air, resting his forehead on hers.

Her eyes are wide and dark enough to drown in when they open. "That's the kiss I've been dreaming of."

He ignores the jolt that goes straight to his groin at her words. Instead, he asks gently, "How long have you felt like this, Madge?"

Her eyes flit away then find his again as if she realizes exactly what it is she's started. "I've wanted you for a while."

Gale is rooted to the spot, stunned by her words when she pulls away. He has so many questions to ask her. When he comes to awareness, she's walking along the side of the house. "Wait, Madge. Wait! Where are you going?"

She looks over her shoulder as she reaches a wooden staircase on the side of the house. "I'm going upstairs - I'm cold. Are you coming?" She doesn't wait for his response but begins to climb.

He doesn't need to be asked twice.

-o—

"Thank God for the servants' stairway." Madge laughs as they head into her room and she locks the door.

Gale pauses as he takes off his coat and jacket, the chasm between them highlighted by her words. "Madge, are you sure this is a good idea?"

She lights the gas fireplace. "No, I'm not. But I've been obsessed with you for a long time. There's only one way to work it out of my system at this point."

Gale swallows hard and jokes, "I'm sure the idea of slumming it is pretty hot."

"Don't you ever say that again." She's in front of him again, mad as hell. "You've got to drop this _woe is me_ chip on your shoulder."

"Sure thing, Princess." The quip is out before he can stop it.

Her arm snakes around his neck to pull him closer so her body brushes his and his lips rest on hers. "Are you saying you don't want me? Say it, and I'll stop."

Gale is totally distracted by her tongue as it licks her bottom lip, barely touching his. Saying no isn't even a thought in his head. He angles his head to fit their lips closer together and whispers, "Of course I want you. I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Good." Her eyes are open and watching his as she trails a hand down to cup him through his slacks.

Gale hisses and draws in a breath just as she smiles against his lips and leans in. It's like she's trying to steal his will; her tongue traces his as her nimble fingers travel along his length. He gasps when her hands find his belt and she takes the opportunity to bite his lower lip.

"Gale?" Her tongue traces the spot she's just nipped.

"Y-yes?"

"Keep your hands behind you."

"You're not going to read me Latin poetry again, are you?" He tries to make a joke but he can tell it falls short when she pulls away. He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes it's just to grab hand lotion from her bedside table. He watches, transfixed and a little afraid of what she'll do next as she rubs lotion onto her hands.

Her voice is quiet as she walks back to him.

"You ask… how many of your kisses

are enough and more than enough for me.

As big a number as the Libyan grains of sand

that lie at silphium producing Cyrene

between the oracle of Sultry Jupiter

and the sacred tomb of old Battus;"

She reaches into his slacks and trails a hand along his hardness, slick skin against skin, and continues,

"Or as many stars that see the secret love affairs of men,

when the night is silent.

So many kisses are enough

and more than enough … to kiss you,

these kisses which neither the inquisitive are able to count

nor an evil tongue bewitch."

"There's nothing wrong with Latin poetry," she says. Her eyes burn with something he can't imagine ever missing, and yet it's as if it's the first time he's seen her.

He closes his eyes as she grips harder, her palm still cool from the lotion. The friction is intoxicating. It takes a lot for him to maintain his grip on the sofa rather than reaching out to run his fingertips along her skin, or grip her hand in his and race to the finish. Instead, he lets her discover her own pace; lets her lead him in his as she pushes his pants and boxer briefs further down his hips.

The whisper of cloth and then warm breath tell him she's on her knees; that alone brings him closer to the brink. He can't imagine what she's thinking as she watches her effect on him, pushing his shirt up and out of the way for a better view. When her lips wetly trace the tip of him as gently as a whisper that belies the commanding stroke of her hands, he moans. He wants so badly to hold off and stay within this moment but he's almost there. She must read how close he is in the way he trembles because she backs off completely; her strokes taper off and her tongue disappears from his shaft to lave a path to his bellybutton. He feels a hand touch his inner thigh as he shakes and then calms. It's not until his body stills that she resumes.

By the third time she's brought him to the edge, he's sweating and trembling. His need for release is so great that he breathes, "Please…"

"Please what, Gale?"

He almost can't tell her. She's alternating between catching her palm on the ridge of the head, running her open palm along the tip in a swirl of her wrist, and tapping on the hood gently with her nails. Each tap sends a jolt of vibration through him and it's making him lose his mind.

"Please, Madge." Her tongue licks a bit of pre-cum and his voice catches.

"Gale, open your eyes and look at me." Her voice is breathy.

He has to pry his eyelids open as another shiver passes over him. She stops touching him altogether and he wants to groan or cry, even though the sight of her kneeling in front of him, crimson dress like petals of a flower, without a single hair out of place is almost enough to send him over the edge.

"Do you want to come?" She licks the flat of her tongue over the tip of him and another shudder passes through him.

"Yes."

"Then repeat after me: _Princesses are meant to be obeyed._ " She resumes tapping very lightly after he mumbles the phrase. "Good boy. Now, I suppose you've been patient. But you've made me wait a long time to do this, so maybe just a little more." She resumes licking him like an ice cream cone until his quivering reaches a fever pitch and she pulls back.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She licks her lips.

He pants, "Yes."

He almost misses her quiet command amidst the pounding of his heart. "Then I will allow it."

Her hands resume their torture while her tongue laps at him. Her movements are leisurely, deliberate, and nothing like the heated urgency driving him forward. She taps and swirls and strokes until she feels the trembling reach a new pitch. Then, very gently, her lips leisurely encircle the tip and she sucks.

Gale wants to cry but he can barely breathe as he shatters into a million pieces. His release is so strong that he fears he will pass out or at least fall down. For certain, he knows that he can't let go of the sofa. He may be permanently fused to it.

When he's finally recovered enough to tuck himself into his pants, he grabs Madge and kisses her thoroughly and deeply. He gets now why some people call sex transcendent because he's pretty sure he just met God.

"I love Latin poetry," he says fervently between kisses.

Madge laughs quietly.

Gale notices her flushed cheeks and thinks she's adorable. He swings her so that she's sandwiched between the sofa and his body and kisses her again. "That was amazing. _You_ are amazing." He rains kisses on a trail from her lips to the sensitive spot under her ear, trailing hands along her dress in an exploration he's beginning to feel may be long overdue.

Madge tugs his hair lightly. "Gale, what are you doing?"

"Repaying the lady." He swoops in for another kiss on her still crimson lips.

Madge sighs. It's a sound full of longing. "It's late, I think you should go."

He can't believe she's serious until she tugs on his hair again, her violet eyes meeting his. He realizes that she looks wiped out. "I'm sorry, you look exhausted. I just thought—" He cups her face and kisses her forehead.

"I know what you thought. But you don't have to repay me." Madge drops her head to his chest when he pulls her in close.

"I want to. What was it you said? _I've made you wait long enough._ " His voice is gruff.

"A little wait won't hurt me. I'm used to it." She smiles up at him.

He gives her another hard kiss before regretfully letting her go.

-o—

Gale huddles a little deeper into his dress coat. _Damn, it's cold,_ he thinks. The afterglow of a mind-blowing blowjob had lasted for the first quarter mile but had rapidly dissipated as cold and fatigue set in. He tries to summon a picture of Madge saying goodbye with her plump, thoroughly kissed lips, her neck slightly red from his five o'clock shadow, both at odds with her fire-siren dress and those insanely alluring red high heels. The image is almost, but not quite, enough to keep him warm.

He crosses in front of the normally dark bakery, stopping when he realizes the back room is lit up like a Christmas tree. He knows the store is one of the few things open on New Year's Day but he's never wondered, let alone witnessed, how early someone has to get there in order to bake the breads, pies, cookies, Danishes and doughnuts that Mellark's carries. He feels a healthy amount of pity for whoever it is that has to pull this duty. He's ready to turn away and walk the rest of the way home when he sees a familiar, buzz cut, blond placing a rack of doughnuts above the counter. His feet climb the stairs with a will of their own and he finds himself knocking on the door.

"Gale? Everything okay?" Peeta has flour on his t-shirt, his arms, even in his hair. Dark circles under his eyes are his most prominent feature. Stubble makes his face look scruffier – and meaner—than normal.

"Hey, Peet. I saw the light on and thought I would say Happy New Year." It sounds lame even to his own ears.

Peeta cocks a knowing eyebrow at his fraternity brother. "Why don't you come around back? The openers don't come in for another forty five minutes and Mom doesn't like me to let anyone but customers in this door. She likes everything up front _just so_." The way Peeta says it makes Gale wonder exactly how many times Peeta has had that phrase drilled into him.

Gale's thankful for the warmth of the baking area. He's even more grateful when Peeta points him to a full coffee pot. He pours himself a cup of it, black, and cups his cold hands around it while the blond measures ingredients into a large stand mixer.

Gale considers him for a moment. "You look like hell, Peeta."

Peeta finishes measuring and turns on the machine before propping an elbow on the top of it. "So do you. I heard you went to the Mayor's party?" At Gale's look of surprise, he adds, "Don't act so shocked; I think everyone in town knows. Besides, Prim told me."

"Of course she did." Gale laughs and takes a seat at a workbench as Peeta begins to knead some sort of dough, muscles in his arms bulging with each pass. It's enough to make Gale wish he had Peeta's stockier build.

"Kinda late to be getting out of that party, though, huh? Did you perhaps have some time alone with the lovely Madge?" Peeta turns the dough with force and resumes kneading.

Gale can feel the flush travel up his neck. "Yeah. Thanks for the tip there. She's uh, quite something."

Peeta continues to knead but tilts his chin at Gale in a sort of baker high-five. "Good for you. She's great."

Gale can't argue with that, especially after the last hour. "She is." He grins. "What about you? Have you heard from Catnip?"

Peeta heaves a huge sigh and seems to take out his frustration on the dough. "Yeah. She called me to wish me a Happy New Year."

Gale feels a dull ache but it's gone quickly. "That's good, right?"

Peeta shakes his head. "No, it's not. She called me at midnight _west coast time_ I didn't have my ringer turned off and my mom heard the phone ring – long story short, I'm officially banned from my phone for the rest of break. She said I'll be _lucky_ to get it back on the way to the airport and then she booted my ass out of bed and told me to come to work."

Gale whistles. More and more, he's beginning to see that Peeta doesn't have it any easier in his big house on the "nice" side of town, despite what he's always thought. "Wait a second. You can check your voicemail remotely, right? Why don't you try accessing it through my phone – can't hurt to try it." Gale holds out his older model smartphone that isn't so ancient that Peeta can't access voicemail and email.

Peeta wipes his hands on his apron and takes the device. "Thanks. Why would you help me? We've never really been friends and I did make a move on your girlfriend."

Gale's snort is loud in the quiet of the room. "I think we've established that Katniss was never _my girlfriend._ " He shrugs. "You're a good guy, Peet. Look at how you handle Jo and Finn…I don't think I realized until the last few months how you treat everyone with respect. I know I always thought I would be the one she couldn't live without, but I'd be happy if it were you instead. Plus, I'm feeling generous tonight." He can't help but grin at his last statement.

"Ah, Madge. Right." Peeta nods like he finally gets it. "Are you guys a couple now?"

"I don't know. She's always been so unreachable, you know? I think I could really be into her. I guess I'm finally figuring out that you guys across town aren't all bad."

It's Peeta's turn to snort, "Yeah, well, thanks for the vote of confidence." He puts the phone to his ear and listens for a few seconds. "This can't be right: it says I've got five voicemails."

Gale sips his coffee and closes his eyes for a few minutes while Peeta listens to what sounds like a rambling message from Katniss. When he opens his eyes again, Peeta is frowning at the phone, apparently reading something.

Gale rubs his eyes. "Sorry about that. I must have dozed off. What's up? Find out anything?"

Peeta waves absentmindedly. "It's alright, one of us should try to get some sleep. Katniss sent me an email."

"Oh, what does it say?" Gale yawns and stretches.

Peeta looks up at him with tired blue eyes. "It's…well…it's mostly about you and her and her dad."

-o—

Gale shrugs off his coat and jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves. He plunks a mug of black coffee in front of Peeta. "Sit down before you fall down and drink this."

"I don't drink much coffee and I already had a cup."

"Trust me, it will help – I'll get you some milk if you want it. Now, start at the beginning." Gale searches in the smaller refrigerator until he finds half and half and offers it to Peeta while Peeta tries to gather some thoughts.

"I don't know if I should even be telling you this. It seems pretty private." Peeta sighs and cracks his knuckles. "Okay. She talks about your conversation with her during the summer and about losing you. She equated it with losing her dad."

Gale sucks in his breath like someone just sucker punched him.

Peeta gives his a look of sympathy. "You said you wanted to know." At Gale's wave he continues, "She talks about therapy and working through her baggage. She said she feels like you think she's the same girl she was in high school. She…she likes that I don't do that."

Gale's about to argue when he realizes that what she's said is probably true. Wasn't that what Madge had said tonight? That he couldn't let go of his old notions about himself and how people saw him? The thought of Madge unravels the hard lump in his chest and replaces it with something warm and wonderful and he realizes that it's okay for both he and Katniss to let go.

"What else?"

"She wishes I would talk to her, but she understands now that I want nothing to do with her. She said that she's going to start the New Year fresh and that she won't contact me again. Oh, and she's really disappointed that I would let Delly blow me."

"Peeta, you and I both know that Delly didn't blow you – that was just something you did to fuck with Catnip." Gale puts the half and half away. "So, what now?"

Peeta stares into his cup of coffee. "I told her we'll talk when we're back at school."

"That's it? Do you still want her? " Gale's confused.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I've thought about it ever since you guys… you know. But I can't do much from here." Peeta motions to the bakery. "And we're back there in a few days anyway. I'd rather wait until I can talk to her face to face. Thanks for letting me use your phone." Peeta hands it back.

"No problem. If you need it again, just let me know. I'd better get going – I can at least try to get a couple of hours of sleep." Gale shrugs into his outerwear.

Peeta stands to walk him out. "Yeah. Mom and Dad are due in a few minutes, so it's probably best if you're not here."

Gale stops at the back door and pauses. "I meant what I said, Peet. If you ever need a place to crash, or just want to talk, let me know."

"Thanks, Gale. I never thought I would say this, but I'm glad we're brothers. Happy New Year."

Gale nods. "See you in a few hours."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Madge recites if from Gaius Valerius Catullus, poem #7 and can be found at www dot negeborn dot net / catullus / text2 /e7 dot htm. If you can find the original Latin read by a hot voice such as Patrick Stewart, Tom Hiddleston, or Dr. Anthony Boyle (who is the reason I almost minored in Classics), DO IT. I'm just going to say that those Romans knew how to party.
> 
> Madge's home is based on the Burr Homestead in Fairfield, CT.


	24. Back to School: New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's up for some singing?

When Finn drops us off at our dorm the Saturday before classes start, I dump my stuff and immediately go for a run. It feels like forever since I've breathed in the smoggy L.A. air while pounding the pavement as the sun beats down on me mercilessly. Yeah, it feels good to get back into a rhythm and shrug off all of that family shit. I want to just get lost and not be a daughter or a sister for a while. With every mile I run, I swear it's like I can feel my mojo coming back until I'm reinvigorated.

When I get back to my room, I push Finn out of my bean bag chair before flopping into it. "Didn't you have to go home and do something?"

"I did already – I even had time to unpack." He puts on his best little kid face and whines, "You've been gone awhile and Katniss and I are bored. When are we going to the frat?"

Katniss sits quietly on her bed drafting some sort of bullet points or something on a piece of paper. She looks intense and lost in thought, the exact opposite of bored. I raise my eyebrows and turn back to Finn. He's about to say something in his own defense when Madge knocks on the open door and comes in.

"Madge!" Finn leaps to his feet and hugs her, kissing both cheeks, European style.

"Finn!" She returns the hug with a laugh, then roots around in her huge bag for something. "Did you guys see this? I almost did a double-take, thinking it was a delectable-looking you. He could hold me at gun-point anytime." She shoots a glance sideways at Finn while she produces an Entertainment Weekly. Emblazoned across the cover is a shirtless, older version of Finnick Odair wearing leather chaps.

I grab the magazine before Finn can reach for it and flip to the article about Finn's dad. It's entitled "Sam Oh-Dare!" and it gives me a much better view of the tightest chaps on the planet cupping an ass so tight I could probably still bounce a quarter off it. That is, if we were ever in the same time zone. Madge is right, the similarities are striking: Finn's dad has an amazingly smooth, well-defined, and tanned chest; dimples that don't quit; and the same sea-green eyes as his son. His hair is more bronze than Finn's though, and he's got laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. If it weren't for the fact that he's a total dickhead for ignoring Finn, I would almost say that he's the hotter of the two, something akin to a cross between a young Robert Redford and Mark Wahlberg, or Nathan Fillion in that episode of Firefly where he wears leather pants.

Finn gives the magazine no more than a cursory glance over my shoulder. "Yeah, Dad's doing some sort of homage to spaghetti westerns. Madge, I'm wounded. I _always_ look delectable." He pouts for a second before adding, "You look amazing as always."

Katniss agrees from the bed, "Yeah, heading home must really agree with you."

They're not wrong; Madge is practically luminous. Her skin has never looked so perfect, her hair like golden strands of sunlight. She is absolutely bombshell-radiant in a just-fucked sort of way.

Wait a sec.

"Did you fuck Hawthorne?" It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. I'm not sure how Katniss really reacted to Madge's texts about dating Hawthorne, but none of her messages gave even the teeniest detail that would have led us to believe that Madge is getting _face shot_ skin treatments or cumshakes. It's either that or Madge is playing _hide the Hawthorne_ with Gale's Pole of Promiscuity. Nothing makes a woman more gorgeous than getting laid well, no matter how little sleep she's had.

Madge at least has the grace to blush, which of course makes her just look even more beautiful. I swear, if she wasn't a great person, I would fucking hate her. "No. We haven't had sex yet."

Finn's picked up on it too and he circles her with one hand on his chin as he assesses. "Jo's right: something is different." He snaps his fingers. "Mile high club?"

Madge rolls her eyes. "I just told you guys that we haven't slept together."

"Well, I didn't say there was any sleeping involved. I'm going to go with 'one of you changed your flight plans and you snuggled under airline blankets and someone pleasured someone in a very naughty way'. Am I close?"

Madge jolts guiltily and blushes even more. She doesn't deny it, probably because Finn is too busy high-fiving me to even listen to her. She does glare at him though, which just makes her look like an angry sex kitten. He laughs, "Oh, Madge. Your skirt is a dead giveaway. Who wears a short skirt on a six-hour plane flight? It just yells out _finger me!"_

Finn does have a point, especially after having been stuck on plane rides with squads full of cheerleaders.

"Finn, that's gross," Katniss chastises him.

But Madge doesn't deny it.

Finn tuts at Katniss. "We're not all prudes, missy." He spies something else in Madge's bag. "Whoa! Stop the presses! You're reading _Fifty Shades_ too?"

"I'm sure Gale's been a bad boy and must be punished." I wink.

Katniss snorts in agreement. "I don't doubt that."

"Has he ever been _good?"_ I look over at Katniss and smile, then turn back to Madge. "I wish people wouldn't read that crap. Anne Rice's _Sleeping Beauty Trilogy_ is so much better," I add, even as Finn looks at Madge thoughtfully.

"Ah, but the better question is, how bad has _Madgy_ been?"

Katniss says drily, "Pretty bad, if anything about the plane scenario is true. I can't believe we're talking about Madge and _Gale_."

"I forget that Katniss isn't really an _Edge of Glory_ sort of girl." Finn shakes his head _._

I tease, "Yeah, her song is more likely to be _Should've Gone to Bed_."

"After spending break with you guys, I'm more _Crazy_ than anything else." She makes a face and hops off her bed. "I'm going to head to the downstairs lounge and finish an outline of my conversation with Peeta. I'll see you guys in a bit." I'm almost worried that we're going to have a problem with her and Madge over Gale when Katniss stops, gives her a big hug, and whispers something that makes Madge smile in her ear.

I share a look with Finn: now that Katniss is gone, we can really get down to the dirty details. Whether Madge will share them is a different story.

"Are you two about done?" Madge brushes her hair back over her shoulder and sits daintily on the edge of Katniss's bed. Her black and pink floral skirt slides up enough that we can see the top edge of her thigh-high, pink socks. I can tell without even glancing his way that Finn's just as convinced as I am that someone got fingerblasted on the plane. Except Finn isn't paying attention to the lovely Madge. He's walking over to my dresser, which doesn't alarm me but it does makes me curious.

"Whatcha doing, Finn?" I have an inkling where he's headed.

He gives me a look like I'm an idiot for asking. "I'm sharing some of your secret stash… it's not like you're using it." He turns to Madge and explains as he opens my bottom dresser drawer, "This is where Jo keeps her sex toys and stuff. Let's see what she's got in here: vibrator, suction cup dildo, handcuffs. Ah - there it is!- flavored love lotions. These are great for some nice, easy, early-relationship fun; they act like edible lube, smell good and actually heat up when you blow on them lightly. We'll save the handcuffs and stuff for once you guys plateau. What do you like: blackberry, strawberry, banana, or cherry?"

I'm expecting Madge to blush and jokingly turn Finn down, but she doesn't. She's thoughtful for a minute, then holds out her hand. "I'll take strawberry, I think." She shoots me a look that is partly shy and partly defiant. "Do you think I could maybe borrow the handcuffs too?"

Finn laughs at my flabbergasted expression, but I recover quickly.

"Sure. Like Finn says, I'm not using them. Too bad I don't have a ball gag, too: a silenced Hawthorne makes the world a better place."

There's no mistaking the fire in Madge's eyes when she catches the edge to my words. "Gale's a good guy, Jo. He even talked to Peeta this trip."

I snort. "Really? Because an alternate universe where Gale and Peeta are close friends just sounds too bizarre."

She nods, "Really. He got Peeta to finally respond to Katniss's email. Didn't she tell you that the text came from Gale's phone?"

"No. She left out that juicy little tidbit."

"You should ask her about it, then. Plus, I'd love it if you cut him some slack, you know, as a favor to me?" Her limpid violet eyes meet mine. You would think that I'm immune to begging from super-hot people, given my exposure to Odair, but I'm not.

She bats her eyelashes once, then twice. Finally, I cave. "I'll think about it."

"Oh, good! Group hug!" Finn claps and holds his arms out.

"Fuck you, Odair. I know you just want to feel up Madge." He shoots me a wounded look, which I ignore while I gather my shower stuff together. "I'm going to go take a shower and get ready for tonight."

Madge takes my cue and scoots off the bed, showing quite a bit of leg in the process. "I should freshen up too."

Yeah. Like Madge ever looks less than runway perfect. I can see the hopeful expression on Finn's face and cut it off. "No, Finn, that's not an invitation. Go do something useful on your way out and tell Katniss we're getting ready."

He sighs dramatically. "I suppose I can check my lifeguarding schedule for the week. Are you sure you don't need your back scrubbed, Madge? I'm really good at getting in all of those pesky nooks and crannies." He waggles his eyebrows.

She laughs and playfully swats at his arm. "I'm fine, but thanks."

"She's taken, Finn. Unless you want Gale to implode into a black hole from brooding right after he kicks your ass."

"Yeah, yeah…I'm going. You can't fault a guy for trying." Finn blows Madge a kiss and punches my arm on the way out the door.

-o-

We get to the frat a little earlier than the majority of partiers. That's okay, though, because I have an ulterior motive. The first thing I do while Madge goes off to find Gale and Katniss searches for Peeta is raid the kitchen. I know that Peeta's back in town and I'm sure there's something homemade stashed here. I open and close cabinets like an addict searching for a fix before I find it: a box of baked goods. Surely, they must be fair game if they're in the kitchen, right?

I don't wait to ask. Besides, according to a dejected-looking Katniss as she skulks back to the kitchen, Peeta's not here. I wordlessly hand her a napkin and a fork and open the box to a blast of scent that makes heaven weep. Inside is an assortment of pastries that make me willing to risk food poisoning as I quickly calculate the unrefrigerated shelf life of the lemon bars, baklava, Stollen, brownies with giant chunks of walnuts, and a few cannolis nestled inside. I decide to risk it. As I take my first lingering bite of a lemon bar that puckers my lips in a delighted growl and coats my tongue in the way only a few joyous things can claim, I think that I should have worn something with an elastic waist instead of the jeans and the navy blue sweater I'm rocking.

Man, I've missed having Peeta around.

Katniss has chosen a piece of baklava the size of her palm. By the way she's taking the tiniest bites possible with her eyes closed while stroking the fork with her tongue to lap up every honey-scented, butter-laden bite, I can tell she's lost in some other world of pleasure. Ever since that fruitcake, I swear she's been dying to get her lips on Peeta's baked goods and it looks like she is not disappointed.

Gale finds us basking in the afterglow. "What are you guys doing?"

Katniss jerks the fork guiltily out of her mouth, narrowing her eyes at his knowing smirk. I jump in to try to diffuse things. "We were looking for Peeta."

"In a pastry box?" He arches one dark eyebrow sardonically.

I shrug; Gale doesn't get to me. "Seemed like as good a place as any. Katniss tells me his door's shut."

"Yeah, he went to check on his beer brewing and bring back a couple of kegs for tonight."

I can feel Katniss stiffening at his words. I'm not sure what she expected, but it evidently wasn't Peeta avoiding her in favor of beer on our first night back. She pushes back from the table without a word to either of us, crosses to the fridge and grabs a random bottle of alcohol. It's half gone in the time it takes me to put away the evidence of our pastry-fest.

"Hitting that kinda hard, aren't you?"

Her words hurl toward my head like projectiles as she stalks out of the kitchen. "Not as hard as I plan to."

I wonder if she's referring to the drink or hitting on Peeta.

-o—

Gale eyes Katniss as she starts her fifth beer. She's hanging out over by the barbecue, glaring at almost anyone who tries to start a conversation while she stares at the fire pit. Peeta has yet to put in an appearance and she's throwing back beers; she's well past angry and on her way to furious with him. Even I'm side-eyeing her; I know she said she wanted to talk to Peeta tonight, but the only talking she'll be doing is praying to the porcelain god if she keeps up this pace.

"What's going on with her?" He jerks his chin in her direction, trying not to draw attention to us.

"I think she's pissed at Peeta for bailing on her tonight. She wanted to have The Talk so they can pick up where they left off." I shudder. Personally, I'd rather pull out my own fingernails than talk about relationships. I guess you could say I'm more a woman of action than words: relationship charades, for example, I could totally get behind.

"That's not good." Gale shakes his head. "I think Peeta has it in his head he's going to start from the beginning and woo her gently. He's not assuming anything after he got ahead of himself last time."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. That's never gonna work!" I sloppily gesture to where she's scowling and having a conversation with Madge. From the wild and impatient gesticulating, I can tell she's already well past buzzed. "Look at her: she's the bitterly sneering love child of Alanis Morissette and Billy Idol! I bet she wouldn't see a subtle romantic gesture if it hit her over the head right now. If he hurts her again, I swear I'm going to let her throw up in his _bed_ this time." I have to wonder how any two young people can be this fucking clueless. It's not that hard, really: Tab P goes in Slot K and slip-and-slide on repeat until someone moans.

Gale watches the two women for another minute. When Annie joins them and asks a question, Katniss's face goes as pink-red as the blouse she's wearing. We can practically see the spit flying from her mouth as she points a finger at the frat house and then herself, obviously making a reference to Peeta.

"She's really holding a grudge." He pauses as if thinking of what he should do, then gives a heavy sigh. "I'll text Peeta and let him know to be prepared."

I stand up and put a hand on his arm to stop him for a second. "Since when are you and Peeta friends?"

Gale shrugs and his eyes drift to Madge, who's walking toward us. "I guess you could say that break really changed some things." He casually puts his arms around her waist when she reaches us. "Hi."

Neither of them leans in for a kiss, but the look that passes between them is pretty hot. She puts a hand on his chest in what I think may be the most possessive gesture I've seen from a girl, like, ever. He actually leans toward her as if she's a magnet he can't resist.

Fuck. Maybe I'm just buzzed, or maybe it's just been a long and lonely December, but I'd watch their homemade porn on the internet.

"Hi," she says. "I hope you guys don't mind, I invited Annie. She and I bumped into each other in the shower."

Unbidden, an image pops into my head of the two of them _bumping_ in the shower. I shake my head to dispel it but it quickly morphs into a scene from the porn I've got on my laptop with Madge as Catwoman and Annie as Black Widow. It's confirmed: it was _definitely_ a long December; I've got to get laid.

"Anything that makes Odair uncomfortable works for me," Gale quips. I just raise an eyebrow at him. Frat parties don't seem like Annie's scene, so I wonder why she's decided to show. I figure I should find out, because the last thing I need is Finn ruining my chances of saddling up whichever one of the nubile guys looks like he has had all his shots and carries less than an eight-inch pistol.

Hey, a girl's got to ease back into it, especially when it's been so long you've practically re-grown your virginity. Some dicks are just too big to start with. And, since I haven't had much time between finals and Christmas break to play with the Purple Monster, I need a training dick.

I'm walking over to Annie, sort of meandering to where she's talking to a group of guys. She squeals a hello when she sees me and gives me a big hug. I'm just asking her about her break when I hear a particularly grating voice – one I remember all too well – say, "Well, aren't you a fine piece? I'd like to make you scream."

I turn to glance around. Sure enough Cato, the dickhead with the girlfriend named Glitter or Glimmer or Night-Light or something is making a nuisance of himself. This time, he's actually palming Madge's ass. I recall that the last time he and Madge met up he practically ended up laid out flat before being escorted from the party. Clearly, he's too drunk to remember it. Madge can take care of herself, but I start to walk over just in case she needs reinforcements. Plus I can enjoy the show better from close-up.

I'm not more than two feet from Annie when I see Hawthorne walk over to Madge and Cato. "Is there a problem here?"

Cato tries to schmooze. "No, no problem. I was just giving her a compliment."

Gale drops his narrowed gaze to Cato's hand, which is still lingering below the waist of Madge's pants. Frankly, I'm surprised his hand isn't broken yet, but Madge is carefully watching Gale instead of going all Chuck Norris.

Gale's eyes move from Cato's hand to his face. His words are very clearly enunciated and eerily calm. "I'm going to ask the lady the same question. If her answer is that you're out of line in any way, I will push a stick up your ass and mop the floor with you. Got it? Are you sure you don't want to take your attention elsewhere?"

Cato swallows visibly and his grip tightens as he practically dares, "Go ahead and ask her."

Gale doesn't even drop his gaze from Cato's as he takes a step closer. "Madge? Is he bothering you?"

Madge throws Cato a scornful look. "You _are_ bothering me. And if you don't take your hand off my butt, he won't have to threaten you because I'll take care of it myself."

Cato doesn't anticipate her elbow connecting with his abdomen. It leaves him grasping his stomach and hunched over. I have no idea what Gale whispers to him, but he nods and lets Gale walk him to the door.

Madge meets my eyes and winks right before Gale asks if she's okay.

I have to compliment him when they come over to the keg where Annie and I are standing a minute later. "Good going trying to come to her rescue, Hawthorne. Keep it up and I'll almost forget what a dickhead you are."

He gives me a twisted smile as he pours beer into red Solo cups for the both of them. "Thanks, Jo. Don't go getting soft on me."

"Oh, I think you're more likely to go soft first," I say snidely. There's no heat behind my words, though. Between Madge deciding he's worth her time and Gale's –dare I say? — kindness, I'm catching on to the fact that I need to update my opinion of the man. There's just no fucking way I'm going to admit it out loud.

I'm saved by any horrifying such confession by a jam that I _love._ It's hot, it's as unsubtle as they come, and it's designed to get me laid. Plus, it's got Pitbull _and_ Ke$ha. What's not to like? I'm grinding air to the chorus as I yell:

 

_It's going down, I'm yelling timber_

_You better move, you better dance_

_Let's make a night you won't remember_

_I'll be the one you can't forget._

 

What can I say? It's a love song.

My roaming eyes catch Finn surrounded by a bevy of co-eds as he tries to pick something on the karaoke machine. One of them is actually ballsy enough to cup him through his jeans, another is pushing up his shirt. I have a perfect view of Annie as she gets a teasing glimpse of the trident shaft that graces his chest. She's transfixed as he smiles playfully and pushes the hands away. It's a pretty normal routine for Finn, after all, but this may be the first time Annie's really seen it in action.

The girls part like the Red Sea when he hops up on the foot-high riser with the foosball table shoved to the side that doubles as a stage. He moves his hips in a way that has the girls screaming almost as much as his puppy dog expression does. Annie walks toward him the minute the first line leaves his lips and I lose her in a sea of swaying and gyrating bodies. By the time he hits the line:

 

_We may only have tonight_

_But 'til the morning sun you're mine, all mine,_

_Play the music low and sway to the rhythm of love_

 

I've decided that she's a big girl who can take care of herself.

I lean over to refill my cup from the tap. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of something as it flies through the air. It hits Finn across the chest of his light green polo shirt like a colorful butterfly hitting glass. He reflexively catches it with a hand and stares at it for a second before twirling the pair of tiny lace underwear around his finger and winking at the crowd, which drives them to new, frenzied heights. Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't seen panties disintegrate off of girls in his presence long before this. His dimples are flashing and I'm a little worried about a riot breaking out when he must spy her: it's the only explanation for the change in his expression. His entire body stills and his eyes stare in one spot as he sings,

 

_When the moon is low,_

_We can dance in slow motion_

_And all your tears will subside_

_Your tears will dry._

 

He extends a hand into the mass of women, obviously reaching for someone, and lets whomever it is tug him off the stage as the song ends.

It's such a tender, romantic moment for him that I have to yell something for solidarity's sake. "Get a room!"

I stride toward the playlist and cue up something full of girl-power. Finn may be all subtlety and pretty words, but I'm not. I motion for Madge to join me; if anyone is full of bad-ass girlishness tonight, it's her. Everdeen slinks to the stage as soon as Madge and I sing the line:

 

_You held me down but I got up._

_Already brushing off the dust._

_You hear my voice?_

_You hear that sound?_

_Like thunder gonna shake the ground._

 

She may be bitter and broody tonight, but shit, that Everdeen can sing.

I notice Finn standing close to the stage and holding Annie's hand. He shakes his head like he's disappointed when he mouths, "Friends don't let friends sing Katy Perry!"

I flip him off as I sing, "Cuz I am a champion and you're gonna hear me roar."

Surprisingly, he lets me keep singing. I chalk it up to the death grip he has on Annie's hand: he's looking at her like she's a goddess and she's staring at him as if the entire party doesn't exist. Either that or he's decided that you just don't fuck with Madge or Katniss given their moods tonight.

The song isn't even over when it cuts out and a new one starts. I huff until I see that it's freaking _Gale_ who's bumping us to the side of the stage. Who knew that tall, dark, and broody can sing? I pray for a split second that it's not some retro hair-band throwback and I'm not disappointed when I hear the Goo Goo Dolls. He grabs the mic and is singing to Katniss, of all people, who still wears an expression that makes Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ looks cheerful. I think Madge is going to be pissed until I hear the words and really process them.

 

_We keep heading in the same direction._

_You've become my own reflection._

_Is that your soul that you're trying to protect?_

_I always hoped that we would intersect, yeah._

_You need time to cope and time to heal,_

_Time to cry if that's what you feel._

_Life can hurt when it gets too real._

_I can hold you up when it's hard to deal._

 

I may be drunk, but I'm not so far gone that I don't realize what this is: this is an apology. _Gale is apologizing to Katniss._ I think I need to sit down or something, especially when I see Madge move over to Gale and put her arms around him as he's singing. I make my way back over to the keg and lean against the wall, grateful for its solid support. It's like the entire world shifted on its axis, or Gale woke up with an alien pod next to his bed. When did he go and become a decent human being?

He motions to Finn and Annie to come on up and sing with him, Madge, and Katniss.

 

_You know that life is a ticking clock:_

_Nobody knows when it's gonna stop, yeah._

_Before I'm gone I need to touch someone_

_With a word, with a kiss, with a decent song, yeah._

 

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, taking in the sound of happy voices and relax for a moment.

"Did I miss the sing-along?" Brue's voice is close enough to my ear that it tickles the hair at my temple. I open my eyes to find his blue ones so close that he has to pull back a little bit, but I don't miss the twinkle in their depths.

"I think you can still join in if you want." I motion to the stage where Finn and Gale are high-fiving and Annie, Madge, and Katniss are dancing with their arms around each other.

"Nah. I think I'll stay here and help you hold up this wall. Happy New Year, Jo." He leans back and mimics my pose, head thrown back and eyes shut. It gives me a chance to drink him in: his skin has a little bit of stubble and his curls are unruly on his forehead. I want to pounce on him for just a second before I rein it in: _this is Brue!_ What the hell is wrong with me tonight?

I shake my head and lean my head back. "Happy New Year, yourself. Where've you been?"

"Peeta needed help bringing some kegs back to the house. You know, since he doesn't have a car. There's a chocolate stout that he thinks we should all try."

"Mmm. Sounds awesome. I appreciate a guy who can figure out how to put chocolate and beer together."

"I'm sure you do." He's sarcastic, but not in a mean way. "Looks like I missed all the fun."

I open my eyes to Finn dipping Annie, who grabs his head and pulls it down for a kiss. When he rises, he looks like he just won the lottery. Madge leans forward and whispers something in Gale's ear that has him grinning. Only Katniss looks to have snapped back to her dark sneer. The beer she's chugging has nothing to do with it, I'm sure, and I make a mental note to get her to slow down.

I can't help but point out the obvious. "This is a frat party: we'll make more fun, I'm sure."

He chuckles, but I barely notice. Katniss straightens up when she hears the rumble of an approaching motorcycle and stalks to the playlist selection. I idly wonder how she's picked up on it – hell, I probably wouldn't have noticed it if Brue hadn't just mentioned Peeta's bike. Then I realize that she's been waiting for Peeta all night; of course she's aware of the sound of his bike. She's probably been listening for it since we got here. She scrolls through the list, frantic with renewed purpose and obviously searching for something. Her expression when she finds it is euphoric.

Which I'm sure means it's not good.

I know I've mentioned that Katniss has a great voice before – really almost professional quality. This is probably the first time I've heard her sing with an angry edge, though, and it takes it up another notch. It's the sort of voice that makes most of the folks at the party stop to listen because she's just so freaking good. Birds, and I don't just mean the super-dumb pigeons we have in the concrete jungle of L.A., would stop for this voice.

Peeta's bike pulls slowly into the driveway just when she hits the chorus:

 

_Don't cry to me, if you loved me,_

_You would be here with me._

_If you want me, come find me._

_Make up your mind._

 

He doesn't hop off his bike right away as he yanks off his helmet, it's as if he grasps that something's going on and he may need to jet. I can pinpoint the exact moment when he realizes who is singing, exactly what she's saying, and that it's aimed at him. His hand, still gloved in black leather, comes up to rub his neck as he meets Katniss's eyes and she angrily croons, "You can't play the victim this time and you're too late."

Brue asks me a question, but I shush him with an impatient wave of my hand: I've got to see how this plays out.

Their eyes clash and hold, steel against blue agate. Peeta stands, swinging a leather-clad leg over his bike while Katniss runs her eyes over him as if she's TSA doing a strip search. He looks lost for only a moment before he processes her look and responds with a hungry one of his own. She's still singing, angrily calling him out for every wrong she's attributed to him since before Christmas break. The biggest one is, of course, that he didn't call.

 

_You never call me when you're sober._

_You only want me 'cuz it's over, it's over._

_How could I have burned paradise?_

_How could I? You were never mine._

 

Her voice breaks on the last line, which snaps him out of their staring contest and he strides toward her with the light playing on black leather like he's some dark beast. He stops directly in front of her, short, gold hair glinting above the black of his jacket. I can't see his face, but Katniss can and whatever she sees there infuses her singing with a note of poignant, vulnerable questioning.

"I've made up my mind," she sings.

I would think Peeta would just let her finish and then maybe the two of them could retreat to the kitchen and talk for a bit. Katniss is drunk, though, and perhaps he picks up on it just from the fact that she's singing all by herself while staring him down with wide, angry eyes and flushed cheeks. Maybe the final straw is that she pokes him in the chest with a finger as the last note dies off. I never do figure out what triggers him to act.

I suppose it doesn't matter, really.

She pokes him and his back goes ramrod straight. His ass actually flexes tight under the leather of his pants like he's coiled for action. He reaches for her, a sudden tug that pulls her to him tightly. Her eyes, just visible, go wide at the unexpected collision of their bodies. She doesn't look scared and she certainly doesn't fight him, not even when he leans forward and claims her lips with his.

Her hands grasp his shoulders. It dawns on me that Peeta is holding her with _one arm_ – I've forgotten how strong he is – while he uses the other to guide one of her legs around his hip. He shifts his hold so he can stroke her jaw gently while he continues to kiss her. And that's when I see their faces.

I'm suddenly reminded of a line from _The Princess Bride_ , "Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind."

Fuck.

It feels wrong to be watching this, I think, as her hands thread themselves through the shortness of his hair and her ankles lock into the dimples at the base of his spine. I can actually feel my pulse racing like when I watched the kiss in _The Notebook_ for the first time: that kiss left me shaken for weeks afterward, weak-kneed and weepy. This one is no different, especially because it means that two of my closest friends will be happy. I watch his hand slide into her braid and fist lightly as their lips cling.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I really, really need to get laid.

I've forgotten that Brue is right next to me watching the same scene. "Well, will you look at that? Looks like betting on the dark horse paid off."

I jolt out of my stupor at his words, tearing my eyes away from what is easily a kiss with which I will compare all others. I meet Brue's sapphire gaze questioningly. "You don't seem upset."

"Oh, I'm not. Look at them," he gestures to where they're still kissing while the party continues around them. "They look happy."

I snort because the level of emotion rolling off their passionate embrace makes that a gross understatement, then cross my arms and assess the lanky man next to me. "You're a romantic? And here I thought you had no feelings at all."

The gleam in his eye is unmistakable as he shrugs. "Of course I'm a romantic. I just don't wear my heart on my sleeve _._ I think this proves nicely that the two of them getting together would have happened anyway and had nothing to do with your prodding. _"_

I snort in response, not quite willing to give up all the credit. We're silent for a minute before I gesture to where my friends are all paired up – all except for me. My heart hurts at little at that realization, and I say a bit more sarcastically than I intend, "Look at them all."

Brue takes in Annie, who is dancing with Finn, and Madge, who laughs at something Gale says, before his eyes rest on Katniss wrapped around Peeta. "They're all pursuing their happily ever after."

I round on him, my heart racing and my palms clammy. I have no idea why I'm angry when he's obviously right. "Happily ever after is a lie." I hurl the words at him.

"You don't believe in happily ever after at all?" His eyes are curious even though his arms are crossed over his chest too.

My heart gives that weird ache for a second before I clamp it down like a heart Kegel and say mockingly, "No. Why would I need happily ever after when I can have happily right now? I'm going to live life like it's one of Peeta's chocolate cakes and every bite is my last."

He shakes his head, turning to watch Peeta carry Katniss into the kitchen before he says quietly, "Your standards are too low."

I'm not sure what pisses me off more: the disappointment I hear in his voice, or the fact that _Brue_ is schooling me on matters of the heart. "My standards are too low? Well, yours are too outdated. There is _no such thing_ as happily ever after."

He turns to me and I see a muscle work in his jaw. I revel in the fact that I've gotten to him. "You don't think your friends will be happy?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that they will be, for a while. And then someone will get bored, or someone will want more, or someone will realize that there's nothing to talk about, or someone snores…" I trail off.

He's quiet for a minute. "You're a cynic, you know that? I always thought cheerleaders were happy people. You're just a cynic in a short skirt."

No one, I mean _no one_ disses the uniform. "Yeah? Well, you're a romantic in a freaking _kilt_." He startles and looks confused, so I pull out my phone and show him the copy I snapped of him and his grandfather. "Who knew you'd look that good in a dress?" It's supposed to sound like an insult, not a compliment.

He laughs. "My grandda said you'd been writing. I didn't realize that meant sharing family photos."

I shrug and put my phone away. "I think he torments you with public displays to _test your mettle_." I attempt to copy Angus's brogue. Somehow the change in topics has diffused my anger and I smile.

Brue snorts in agreement. "Mettle is right: someday I hope I'm one tenth of the man Angus is."

We laugh quietly before an awkward silence falls.

"You really don't think true love exists?"

I struggle with what I want to say. "I think…we're just really young. How do any of them know that they won't change in one or five or ten years? Things happen, Brue. People get hurt."

He opens his mouth to say something when Finn bounces up to me and gives me a big hug.

"What was that for?" I ask, laughing.

"This is the. Best. Party. Ever. You've been standing around all night! Come dance." Finn tugs me toward the dance floor.

I look over at Brue who seems to have forgotten whatever he was going to say as he finishes his beer. "I'm going to go try the stout. You guys have fun."

It's a dismissal but I can't help staring at him while Finn pulls at me again. "Brue? What did you have on under the kilt?" It's as good a question as any to get him to turn and look at me. For some reason, I need reassurance that we're friends. I tremble a little at the idea that he'll ignore me and just keep walking.

He doesn't, though. He turns to me with a blinding smile and a wink. "When have you ever known a McLeod to not be one hundred percent authentic?"

Relieved, I feel us slip back into our normal gears and smile back. "Ah. Well, I've seen you in your Speedo and I wasn't impressed."

The searing look he sends my way will have me wearing out the rechargeable batteries in my vibrator for weeks. "Oh? Because I could have I _sworn_ that you couldn't take your eyes off me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, several songs and movies were mentioned in this chapter. They are listed below, in case anyone wants to check them or their lyrics out. I am especially struck by the Rhythm of Love as a Finn anthem and the words to Rebel Beat remind me a lot of THG.
> 
> Plain White T's – Rhythm of Love
> 
> Roar – Katy Perry
> 
> Rebel Beat – Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> Call Me When You're Sober – Evanescence
> 
> Princess Bride
> 
> The Notebook
> 
> The Shining


	25. Pride

"Jo, are you still awake?" Katniss asks groggily. When she rolls over, I have a clear view of her Captain American pajamas in the dim light cast by the paused video of General Hospital on my laptop.

"Am I keeping you up? I can go downstairs." When she shakes her head, I make my way to the mini-fridge. "Want a snack?" Inspiration strikes so I coat a teaspoon with peanut butter, dip it in marshmallow fluff, and then swirl it in the box of Cocoa Puffs. When I look up, Everdeen is gaping at me.

"That is disgusting. And that cereal is half-mine too, you know!" She plumps her pillow and sits up in bed, which probably means more questions. I had half-hoped she would just go back to sleep so I could continue my date with Dr. Noah Drake, the original Dr. McDreamy. _Yum_. I munch my snack thoughtfully: it's not a bad combination, but it needs more peanut butter, which I add judiciously.

She takes in my sweaty clothes, then looks at the spoon; I can practically hear the wheels turning as she tries to figure me out. Sometimes she is such a fucking Psych major.

"Oh, no. _Again?_ What happened?" When I munch more slowly that a cow chewing cud, she pushes the covers off and walks over to the desk chair where she sits criss-cross-applesauce style and leans toward me. "Talk to me, Jo. What's going on? Did you finally tell Brue that you like him? Oh my GOD! What did he say? If he hurt you, I will personally scoop out his heart with a spoon. I hear that hurts a lot."

It's my turn to gape: _Brue?_ _No way._ I want to tell her that he and I are just friends, but the words stick in my throat as I recall his intense eyes on mine a month ago after Katniss and Peeta's first kiss. I have, quite literally, gone through two sets of batteries in my vibrator on that look. Hell, that look is the reason that I've hit on the Lenny Kravitz look alike in my Geology 101 class.

I try to play it off. "Katniss? Shut up. No, it wasn't Brue. Whatever gave you the idea that I might like him? And I don't need any help."

She shakes her head at me like she's becoming a bobble-head. "No. No way." She checks the clock to find that it's only half past midnight – pretty early, yet. "I'm getting Madge and Annie. Don't you move, Johanna Mason. We're getting to the bottom of this."

I lean my head back and munch on what tastes a little like those Reese's Sticks wafer bars while I relax and prepare myself for the inquisition. I know that the combination of Annie, Madge, and Katniss will get me to talk. The thought of the coming interrogation makes me look longingly at a frozen Rick Springfield: I just want to escape for a while. Is that so wrong? I idly consider jetting out for a run. But I know they will wait up for me and I can't go to the frat house. Brue and I just wrapped up a run an hour ago and he'll ask his own questions. Basically, I'm fucked.

And not in a good way.

-o—

"So, this guy from your class turned you down?" Annie asks. She alone has braved the Cocoa Puffs and peanut butter combination and seems to like it. She licks her spoon for emphasis, tendrils of hair that have escaped her messy bun coming dangerously close to fusing with the marshmallow fluff on her cheek. She'd probably tell me it's some sort of awesome face cream.

I nod. "Cold. It was probably the most humiliating experience of my life."

Katniss snorts. "Jo, you slipped him a note that said, ' _Wanna fuck?'_ without even knowing his _name._ I can't believe you thought he wouldn't turn you down."

I glare at her. "He's eighteen. A lot of guys don't need more than that note. Peeta obviously excluded."

She grimaces at my direct hit. Peeta still hasn't shot his arrow into her quiver, if you get my meaning. "Name one guy who would take you up on that."

I don't even have to think on this one because I didn't even have to ask in this particular case. "Gale."

"Hey, now! Leave Gale out of this." Madge frowns and taps one perfect, shell-pink nail on her pale arm. Not a hair is out of place, and her pale blue silk pajamas aren't even wrinkled. I wonder if Gale ever sees her rumpled. Judging from the haze he's been in since Christmas, I would bet the answer is yes.

"Guys are interchangeable to you, so any one rejection isn't going to matter." Madge shakes her head. "Something else is going on. What gives, Jo? I doubt that it's because a guy turned you down, even if he did look like a young Lenny Kravitz."

What? Young Lenny Kravitz is fucking hot. Hell, _old_ Lenny Kravitz is hot.

I sigh heavily: I skipped dinner, I'm a little queasy because of my snack, and I have the sudden urge to lay down and sleep. These girls are going to get it out of me sooner or later, so I might as well spill it. I don't even know how to say it, really, without hurting their feelings, so I blurt it out. "You guys are all with someone. And Valentine's Day is coming."

I sound so fucking pitiful that I want to stab myself in the eye with Everdeen's homework pencil.

Annie's sea-foam eyes get a little misty. "Oh, Jo! And you want a date for Valentine's Day?" She bites her lip and reaches across Katniss to grip my hand in a sign of sisterly solidarity. "And we didn't even notice how upset you were. I am so sorry!" She blinks a few times and sends me a sad smile. Her bottom lip is actually trembling so that, in her blue, cotton pajamas with colorful fish all over them , she looks like a cross between a Bohemian mermaid and a young Meg Ryan.

Why are all of my friends gorgeous, even in the middle of the night?

Katniss is fiddling with her braid, a sure sign she's thinking. "What about Brue?"

Madge interrupts me before I can even sputter a reply. "She hasn't said anything to him yet?"

I disengage Annie's hand from my arm. "Excuse me? I'm right here. Can you guys stop talking about me like I'm not in the room? Said what to Brue?" I look from Katniss to Madge in confusion.

Annie smiles at me indulgently and I want to smack her in her Sarah McLachlan-sad face. I grit my teeth when she says, "That you like him, of course."

_Wait._

_What?_

"I don't like him."

"You're with him all the time." Madge points out levelly.

Katniss adds, "And you guys do that flirty thing with your eyes—"

"You mean eye-fuck?" I ask.

Annie nods.

"Guys, I do not eye-fuck Brue McLeod."

"You do," Madge says. "And, if he's not eye-fucking you back, he's at least eye-spanking."

"You guys would be so good together." Annie claps her hands. "It would be so romantic."

"No. Just…no. We're friends! It would like…like fucking Finn. Or Peeta. Or Gale." I wince a little at that last one, but I power through it and hope no one notices.

Madge crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, catching my little gaffe. "Exactly. And you and Gale slept together."

"You need to ask him out," Katniss says.

I ignore her and focus on Madge. "I just hooked up with Gale. You know, a drunken grope at a frat party - it's not like we dated. I am not going to ask Brue out." I squirm uncomfortably.

"Why not?" Annie asks. "You obviously like spending time with him. He's single, you're single—"

"No!" I hop up and pace. "I do _not_ like Brue MacLeod. I am not asking him out. End of discussion. Now, let's talk about something fun, like the fact that Katniss and Peeta haven't boned yet."

All three continue to stare at me, oblivious to my distraction tactics.

"You're afraid," Madge says softly. "You're afraid to ask him out."

I don't deny it: I am. I'm terrified. Because if Brue MacLeod decides I'm not worth his time, then what does that say about me? I don't think my delicate psyche can handle that kind of rejection. It's different to have some guy I barely know tell me he doesn't want me. But when I know someone, and when they know me, sex becomes so _personal._ I'm not sure I can handle that sort of scrutiny.

Instead, I do what I've done my whole life and turn the attack onto someone else.

"So, Katniss, am I wrong? Has Peeta seen the Christmas gift you gave yourself yet?" My desperate eyes meet hers and she knows what my game is.

She blushes and shrugs. "No."

"What Christmas gift?" Annie asks. I've forgotten that she and Madge don't know about the mystery tattoo that Katniss has somewhere on her body.

"Katniss got a tattoo over break."

"A what?!" Madge asks.

"A tattoo," Katniss answers, then drops her eyes and picks at a loose thread on the carpet. "And I would love to have the opportunity to show Peeta my body art, but he doesn't seem really all that interested."

Annie frowns. "But you two seem so happy! And that kiss…" Annie sighs deeply. Yeah. That kiss.

"We are. We're just not…we're not that physical." Katniss stares daggers at me and I stick out my tongue.

"But you want to be, am I right?" Madge asks. "Because that was an epic kiss. And the way he was holding you…those weren't the hands of a guy who isn't interested."

I snort and smirk at Katniss. "Five seconds ago, the two of you were barely talking, and now you want to ride his Ducati. How far we've come."

Madge shakes her head and shoots us each the stink eye. "Guys, focus! I know that both Katniss and Johanna would never ask for help, but I think I have a solution that would help you both." She roots through the voluminous designer bag that she takes with her everywhere for a minute and pulls out a catalog. I giggle when I see the name on it.

_Victoria's Secret._

"Ladies, what is sexy? Sexy is a state of mind. It's confidence. Now, who is the sexiest person you know?"

"Tom Hiddleston," I say without a moment's hesitation. Can I help it if Loki makes me want to get on my knees and say his name? Madge frowns at me, so I backpedal. "Oh, you meant like, real people? Well, that's easy, Madge. It's you."

Annie laughs. "Jo that is so funny. I was going to say _you."_

Katniss looks uncomfortable for a moment. "Annie, I was going to say _you."_

We all laugh a little, which helps me feel safe enough to confess, "I'm not sexy. I'm nothing but snark in a push-up bra, really. And a padded one at that. Madge is the gorgeous one."

Katniss goes next. "And I'm bonier than a quail. Peeta's going to be disappointed at all of the sharp angles." She flops down on her bed and covers her face with a pillow.

"I wish I were more confident, like you Madge. Or smart as a whip, like Johanna. Or intense, like Katniss," Annie says.

"I'm fat," Madge says. It's matter-of-fact. We all gape at her before the cacophony of noise as we disagree with her starts. She holds up a hand to quiet us. "But I think we can all agree that we're too critical, too hard on ourselves. So, what is sexy? Because I think Annie hit it on the head: it's confidence, or intelligence, or intensity. It's whatever makes us special. What do each of you like about yourselves? Think about it tonight. Because tomorrow I have an idea for how to mega-boost whatever your super power is: we're going lingerie shopping so we can feel fabulous about ourselves."

"How is that going to help me?" I ask Madge. Personally, I think lingerie is a waste of money because it just ends up crumpled on the floor. Hell, half the time I don't even take my clothing completely _off._

Madge gets up daintily and helps the rest of us to our feet. When we're all standing, she brushes a blonde hair off her forehead. "Ladies, it's hard to be down on yourself when you feel beautiful. Annie, imagine what Finn will do if he thinks you've got a little lingerie secret? Katniss, I think it'll give you confidence to know when the right time to get close is. Plus, it will drive Peeta absolutely wild and he won't be able to keep his hands off of you. Jo, I think you're afraid that you can't hold a guy's interest for more than the five minutes it takes you to get your panties off. Lingerie is going to help you remember that there are some things worth more than a quickie. Maybe that will give you the confidence you need to ask a certain someone out."

"But I like quickies," I mumble. Because there's no way I'm asking Brue out and risking a broken heart, no matter what I'm wearing.

-o—

We need a ride to the mall, and Annie texts Finn to see if he can take us. Somehow that evolves into all eight of us heading to Westside Pavilion in two cars. I'm pretty sure Finn must have texted the guys and told them that we were getting ready to have a porn star pillow fight because, when we pile in the car, not a single one of the guys can look us in the face. Any time Brue sees me in the rearview mirror his eyes skitter away like I'm naked in the back seat. Actually, he's seen me naked and his eyes didn't skitter away _then._ I can't help but think that their expressions alone make this trip worth it.

We hit Victoria's Secret and it's like a force field protects it from the guys walking through the entrance: Finn crosses the threshold, but none of the others do.

"You guys aren't coming?" he says. They all turn various shades of red. "Come on! What if they model for us—"

"Not gonna happen, Odair," Katniss says. She is the same shade of red as Peeta.

Finn looks indignant as we all shake our heads. "Man, you guys suck. What's it take for a guy to see some of this stuff up close and personal?"

I almost feel sorry for him as he touches a green satin teddy almost exactly the same color as Annie's eyes. Then Annie crosses to him in a graceful sweep of her long skirt and a jingle of bangle bracelets and whispers something that has him grinning. I don't have to guess what was said when he sweeps her into a very wet, very loud kiss on the lips.

As the guys leave for God-knows-where, I just shake my head and hope I can get through the next hour.

"What's your best feature?" Madge barks at me like a drill sergeant after they leave. I have no idea how to answer her. Just thinking about it last night had given me a headache that even Dr. Drake couldn't cure.

Annie pipes up, "Her legs, Madge. Or maybe her neck. Her hair is so adorably short."

She and Madge thrust a bunch of underwear at me to try on even as I resist.

"Guys, I have underwear. _Comfortable_ underwear. I just got some from Finn for Christmas."

Katniss laughs. "Jo, it has your cell number on the butt."

"It's practical underwear: it helps in case I get lost, too."

Annie shakes her head and hands me a leopard-print cami and underwear set that I just know is going to make me feel ridiculous.

"What about Katniss?" I stare at her. "She's got great eyes."

I can tell Annie's really getting into this now. "And her shoulders are so petite. Something with spaghetti straps in gray or silver, I think." She combs through the racks for a satin camisole in gun-metal gray or sparkly silver.

"Red. Katniss needs red underwear." Madge is also looking through racks and holds up what I can only describe as a blood-red teddy.

I start to laugh. "Katniss in _red?_ Guys, her underwear right now has little bows and arrows on them. Or Oscar the Grouch saying _Go away_. I leave out the fact that she prefers commando, imagining that would only going to start another round of lecturing from Madge.

Katniss scowls. "Keep laughing, Jo, and I'll tell Barb how much you love lingerie shopping."

I suck in my breath at her obvious threat; shopping for lingerie with my stepmom is a fate worse than death. I raise an eyebrow because it's _game-on._ "Hey, Madge? I think red is _just_ the thing for Katniss."

**Short Outtake: GNO 25 (The Boys)**

"Anyone else want to head to Jamba Juice?" Finn asks the guys, like hanging out at the mall is totally normal for him. No one answers, so he leads the group to the food court.

"What do you think they're doing back there?" Peeta rubs the back of his neck where his blush still hasn't faded. He's a little worried what Madge means when she says that they've gone to Victoria's Secret to get some "girl confidence." He's sure that Katniss has plenty as it is and it's slowly killing him. He is still amazed that she's with him, let alone work up the nerve to do…well…all the things he wants to do to her in the dark. And on his bike, and the kitchen counter, and maybe her dorm room…

Pretty much ever since their first kiss, it's all he can think about to the point where he finds it hard to keep his hands to himself.

Of course, that didn't stop him from jumping in the car as soon as he heard their destination.

Brue laughs. "Probably just trying on clothes, in spite of what we're all thinking."

Gale chuckles too. "You mean I'm not the only one thinking it?"

Finn claps him on the back. "No, man. I think we're all sort of imagining – or hoping for – a massive pillow fight. I swear if we hear a page for Mall Security to Victoria's Secret I'll race all of you."

They laugh, order, and grab a table.

Peeta sips his drink. "You think they're going to buy anything?"

"God, I hope so," Gale says. "Madge loves the stuff and it's like, incredible when she wears it." When he sees the group gaping at him he asks, "What? It is. Peet, man, I hope that Katniss gets something. For your sake."

Peeta swallows audibly and looks at the table. It's uncomfortable enough that he's looking for Tumblr porn just so he can work out some of his tension; he's even started drawing a couple of fantasies that he just can't shake. All he wants is to be close to her, but it's getting harder and harder not to take things further.

Finn notices his discomfort and sends him a quizzical look but can't refrain from adding to the conversation. "I hope Annie buys something. I can't even imagine unwrapping her. It would be like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one."

Peeta suddenly bursts out laughing. "Oh my _God._ What if – What if _Johanna_ buys something?"

"Dude, the world does not need that. She's already a handful," Brue adds. He doesn't laugh, though.

Gale chimes in, "Lingerie isn't really her style. She's about as subtle as the freight trains that come through our neighborhood back home."

"I don't know. Maybe it's time that Jo stopped treating every guy like a blow up doll. I think she's ready for a relationship." Peeta looks at Brue. "What are you doing for Valentine's Day?"

Brue shrugs. "No idea. It's a Hallmark holiday anyway."

"You should ask Johanna out," Peeta declares. Finn almost spits smoothie out his nose and Gale has to thump him on the back.

Brue ignores the antics of the other two as he answers, "I don't think that's wise. We're friends."

Gale, still incredulous at the suggestion, says, "I don't think he has time to get a chocolate dildo ordered at this point."

Peeta ignores Gale's comment. "Think about it. She could be good for you. She's…" he pauses, searching for the right word, "sassy." He looks askance at Gale. "Oh, and Gale, I'm not saying that I wouldn't know what to do with Katniss in lingerie, just that we haven't done it yet."

"What? Why wait?" Gale asks.

Brue nods.  "I think it's awesome. Don't rush into things."

Finn narrows his eyes at Brue. "Who _are_ you? You want Peeta to wait?" He turns to Peeta. "What's going on? We're your friends, man. Ask for help if you need it, but don't just do nothing. After that kiss, we all just assumed you would be laying that out on your bed like peanut butter on Wonder Bread."

Peeta pushes back from the table so fast that Finn thinks it might be the baking analogy that's pissed him off. "I don't need help! I just don't want everyone to know what Katniss and I do as a couple. We just got together! I'm – I'm trying to be respectful."

Finn and Gale exchange a look as Peeta strides to the trash and tosses his empty cup.

-o-

Everyone meets up outside of The Body Shop and it's obvious that something's wrong: Peeta seems weirdly tense. Katniss sees it and sidles over to slide her hand into his. He looks at their connected hands, then up at her face as if she's the moon and he's the tide.

Johanna's heart can't help but give a little squeeze at that look. What would it feel like to have someone look at her that way?

"What's going on?" Johanna asks Gale. He's distracted by the contents of Madge's bags, so she turns to Brue with a raised eyebrow.

He sighs. "Peeta just got upset, that's all."

"Yeah. They haven't gotten it on." She jerks her chin at where Katniss and Peeta look in the window at the various lotions and talk quietly. Peeta flinches whenever Katniss's small bag brushes up against him.

Brue's lips thin out in anger. "That's none of our business. I wish you guys would leave the two of them alone."

Johanna wants to argue with him, to tell him that friends give a damn about each other, but now isn't the time – not with Katniss and Peeta standing close by. Instead, she turns away and says over her shoulder, "I'm going inside The Body Shop."

Brue follows her into the store, as do Madge, Gale, Katniss, and Annie.

Finn wanders over to Peeta, who stares moodily through the window. "Hey, man, what's going on? I don't ever think I've ever seen the thought of a naked girl upset a guy so much."

Peeta lets out a breath. "Finn, it's easy for you, you know? You and Annie are like a golden couple."

Finn laughs and agrees. "We are fine, yes. Seriously, though, what's going on? If it's a skill thing, I'm sure I can arrange a tutorial –"

"I don't want Katniss to see me. You know." Peeta motions to his flannel shirt and jeans.

"Naked?" Finn guesses.

Peeta nods. "Yeah. I just – I'm not really comfortable being naked in front of anyone. And Katniss is special. The whole thing just needs to be – it needs to be _special_."

"Well, you could just do it with your clothes on," Finn advises logically.

Peeta looks insulted. "No! No. I am not going to just drop my pants and grope her. Would you do that to Annie? You said it yourself: our first kiss was so amazing, that a follow up in the dark, in a single bed, in a frat house with thin walls just seeks wrong. I'll figure something out." He watches Katniss raise a floral lotion to her nose and make a face as she sniffs.

Finn looks from him to Katniss and back again. "Ah, because you want to see her. And you can't very well get her naked if you're not. Right?" Finn pauses. "Is it, like, medical or something? Because you should just tell her. Forget your pride, man, there are boobs at stake."

Peeta frowns. "No, it's not medical! And please, don't mention anything to Jo. She'll just go tell Katniss. Or worse, she'll bring it up at dinner." He shudders. "I said I'll figure something out, and I will. Just give me a little time."

Finn puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder. "Okay. But don't wait too long. Things like this usually get harder with time. Get it? Harder?"

Peeta snorts, thinking of the drawings he has tucked under his mattress so Katniss can't find them. "You're telling me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For FamousFremus. You know why.
> 
> Some of you will recognize the premise of this from the Prompts in Panem Seven Deadly Sins Challenge. The basis for this was my submission for Pride, hence the name and outtake included at the end. I hope you enjoyed it!


	26. Finntervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what sort of trigger warning to put on this chapter: beware, 13-year-old gutter humor, food porn. I guess that's as good as any. If you are easily offended, you should probably skip this chapter.
> 
> For Jessa, who provided the prompt that gave me GNO.

I finish my mint chocolate chip and gold medal ribbon with hot fudge and plop my spoon in the bottom of the bowl. "Speaking of Adopt a Peen… How was your Valentine's Day?"

Finn smiles wolfishly and winks. "Ammmmmazzzing. Annie put on a very personal modeling show."

"Oh?" I was there when she bought the lingerie that I'm sure she showed off for Finn. Yeah. He got an eyeful alright.

"There is no way anyone else had better. " Finn's referring to the rest of our group because he knows that I've hit my longest dry spell since losing my v-card.

I know that Gale took Madge on a romantic picnic in the rose garden; when Madge told me about it, she had to keep telling me to close my mouth. Can I help it if I was shocked that Gale had a romantic bone in his body? Then again, I'm pretty sure that Madge has felt that bone, romantic or not.

Everdeen's a different story. She and Peeta had gone for a hike in Griffith Park. From the light in her gray eyes, it was equally as thoughtful as Madge's flower-filled passion-fest. But from the way she's been moping around our room, it's clear something still isn't right. Finn's mention earlier in the week that Peeta's confessed to some sort of hang up preventing him and Everdeen from knockin' boots explains a lot. They should be all over each other, not living a freaking Taylor Swift song, right? I mean, they just got together! I had to roll my eyes when Finn said Peeta wanted perfection. Hell, for some guys, perfection is getting it in the right hole. And Katniss bought lingerie. For an eighteen year old guy, lingerie is like using an atomic bomb to reheat French fries: total overkill. Peeta wants perfection? He'll be lucky to last three minutes with her wearing lingerie.

Katniss's still spending more nights in our room than his, watching movies like _What's Your Number_ , and _Gladiator_ — pretty much anything with a semi-naked blonde guy. Watching them isn't exactly a hardship for me. But it's a cry for help, I tell you, and it's enough to make me demand a reboot. The two of them need some schooling, and fast, to get this relationship back on the right track. What the hell could be holding him back from impaling her on his spear of love?

Which is how Finn and I end up eating ice cream and launching a plan to fix all that.

Finn's body practically hums with nervous energy when he turns to look at me over his rum raisin and pumpkin with caramel topping. "Let's go over the plan again. Ok, so I'm going to wake up Peeta with some sob story about you needing baked goods – it's not a stretch, really – and make him come downstairs. You'll have everything else ready?"

I nod. "Damn right I will; I even made up gift bags. Everdeen better appreciate this. And, FYI, she'll probably sleep there tonight since it's Friday." I'm giddy over the prospect of our little "home improvement project".

Finn looks guilty for a minute. "Jo, you don't think we should just leave them alone, do you? Brue said—"

That name is all it takes to set me off. "Fuck him, Finn! And fuck no! Katniss is practically chomping at a proverbial ball gag to hit that. I figure we owe her something as a consolation prize for it taking this long. And maybe if Peeta sees that she's interested, it will pop the clutch for him." When Finn still looks like he may be on the fence, I put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, think of it as a co-ed Adopt a Peen program. Katniss is going to adopt it, take it back to her room, and crate train it, using her vag as the crate."

Finn shakes off whatever doubts he seems to have and grins. "Okay. I think we're ready. Synchronize watches for five a.m. tomorrow?" We check our cell phones to confirm that our alarms are set.

We fist bump, ready for anything. "Go team!"

I can't wait to see Everdeen's face tomorrow morning.

-o—

I hear Finn coming down the frat house stairs. His voice has just the right amount of pathetic panic to get our guests of honor out of bed at this early hour. "I don't know. Jo called me and said something about Valentine's Day and how hard it was to be alone. I think she was crying, guys. Crying! She was going to get some Twinkies, and that's when I remembered what you said about store-bought baked goods and brought her right over. I don't think she should be alone."

In the spirit of disclosure, Finn's not wrong: V-day alone this year sucked more than losing my virginity in the back of Marvel Vadis's car senior year.

"She wouldn't be lonely if she just took our advice." Katniss sounds ultra-cranky rather than really supportive. For a second I wonder if maybe Finn interrupted something. Then I remember that she's not a morning person; I doubt even an impending zombie attack would make her give it up at five in the morning if she could sleep instead.

Just for a second, I'm envious of the two of them. They have someone to lie next to at night, even if they don't take advantage of it.

So we're here to make _sure_ they take advantage of it.

I hold my tongue when they all enter the room and slide two mugs of steaming tea in their direction. Finn and I don't need caffeine at this point because we're both running on the high that comes from putting an amazing plan in place.

"Welcome, welcome!" I say in my best singsong voice. Katniss gapes at my perkiness, then closes her eyes and rests her head on her folded arms on the table.

"What's all this?" Peeta stares with confusion at the collection of things lying on the table.

Finn pokes Katniss. "Wake up, sleepyhead! This is an intervention, or _Finntervention_ , if you will. I believe, as does Johanna, that it is our duty as the most experienced of our group of friends to give the physical side of the Everlark relationship a jump start. Consider it our hours of community service for the year: we're here to educate you."

Katniss mumbles into the table, "It's too damn early for this."

"You're going to give us the sex talk?" Peeta asks, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding."

Finn holds up a hand. "Hear me out. Peet, you mentioned that you're uncomfortable about something. Jo and I have a bevy of experience. We're sharing that it's okay to feel nervous or self-conscious, but sex is a natural, enjoyable experience, and the two of you should feel secure that there's nothing about your bodies to be ashamed of. Even if, you know, your dick has two heads of whatever your deal is."

Peeta's mouth opens and closes several times in either disbelief or shock.

"Ah, you're speechless. Good. Let's get started, shall we? The first module of our curriculum is called _From here to Virginity_. Ms. Mason?" Finn motions to me.

"Thank you, Mr. Odair. Now, class, let's open your Virginity Preparedness Kit."

Finn hands them a gallon sized baggie which contains a laminated diagram of both the male and female anatomy (thanks to the Mellark bible), a chamois cloth, a resealable bag of personal wipes, small bottles of personal lubricant in both standard and warming varieties, and condoms in several sizes. The latter are courtesy of my contact at the Student Health Center.

"First, we're going to prepare the area, so spread the chamois cloth out like a napkin. You're going to put the chamois on whatever surface you decide to do the nasty on." I wait while Peeta spreads the cloth out.

Katniss is finally paying attention because she asks, "Why do we need the cloth?"

I'm not even sure how to put this, so I just say it. It was probably the most shocking thing about my first time and I don't want her to have the same experience." In case you bleed at all." At her wince, I add, "The other option was to include red sheets, but these were cheaper." I'm pretty sure Marvel had to have his dad's car upholstery cleaned after we were done, but I doubt she would appreciate the example.

She scowls and spreads her chamois out in front of her.

"Okay, the Jo-Code for losing your v-card includes three simple rules: masturbate, lubricate, and penetrate. You're going to do all three of them slowly. At least one of them can involve your mouth but under no circumstances do you skip a step. That's very important! You're going to need to lubricate several times. No matter how turned on your think your partner is, you will thank me later."

Peeta looks pretty angry. "Guys, this is ridiculo—"

"What are these for?" Katniss picks up a jar of maraschino cherries.

"Tongue homework. You're going to practice tying knots in the stems."

She brightens considerably. "I can do that already! Here, let me show you!" Katniss pops open the jar and has a cherry in her mouth faster than Peeta's jaw can drop. A flush slowly creeps up his neck and into his cheeks as he watches her intently. She smiles with a knot caught between her teeth after a minute or so. When she puts it on the table in front of her, Peeta leans in for a deep kiss.

I wink at Finn and smile widely when he mouths, "You're a genius."

I mouth back, "Madge's idea."

I clear my throat. "Impressive, Katniss! Now, Peeta you're going to practice scooping this maraschino cherry out of either a grapefruit half or this jelly donut. Your choice."

"Peeta, I know you hate store-bought baked goods, but that's a cream-filled malasada from this Portuguese bakery up the street from me. They're so good," Finn adds helpfully.

When Peeta doesn't answer right away, I tap my finger against the table. "Katniss showed us her skills. Don't you want to show off yours?"

"Yeah, man. Don't be shy – you're among friends and we're all accepting here. Even Finn Odair had to start somewhere," Finn encourages.

All we get is a dirty look as Peeta grabs the grapefruit and a cherry. I have to be honest, though, watching him push that cherry into the grapefruit and then gently poke and scoop it out with his tongue is kinda hot. He closes his eyes and Katniss fixates on his intent expression while his tongue gently probes for the hidden, sweet treasure. It's almost pornographic. I can almost hear Bad Company's _Feel Like Makin' Love_ and have to bite back a cackle. If this doesn't get them doing headboard Morse code, I don't know what will.

When Peeta's sucked the prize out and holds it between his teeth in victory, Katniss's eyes are wide and twinkle oddly. The two lean in for another kiss.

Watching their happiness makes me hungry. "Anyone going to eat a donut? Because I will." I grab one from the box and take a bite.

Hey, teaching this stuff is hard work and I deserve a little something for my trouble.

Finn chimes in as I chew. "For the purposes of the rest of class, we'll need a few more learning aids. First, can you each choose something that you think loosely resembles your own genitalia? We have aids in a variety of sizes, so please take your pick. For example, Beyonce is about this size and shape." He gestures to an array of vegetables, ranging in size from a baby carrot to an eggplant before pulling a medium-sized zucchini from the pile.

"Beyonce?" Katniss asks.

I finish the malasada and lick the cream-filling from my fingers. "That's Finn's dick."

Poor Katniss looks totally lost. "Why Beyonce?"

Finn leans over the table, dangling the zucchini suggestively. "Because all the single ladies want it and if you like it then you should put a ring on it. But we're getting ahead of ourselves: we'll cover cock rings in another class. Whatever you guys choose, there's no shame here. Although Jo talked me out of both the crook neck and the elephant cock, Peet. Sorry. And Katniss, we weren't sure, so the range for your equipment is strawberry to a papaya."

Katniss looks amused, until Peeta grabs a cucumber with close to the girth of a beer can. Her eyes go wide and she gulps, as she grabs for an avocado half.

I have to be honest that even I wince a little at the size of Peeta's salad.

"So, what's the rule after masturbate? Lubricate! No matter how much oral there, is, and you'll probably be thinking there is a lot even when it's only been a few minutes of it, lubricate. Especially you." I point at Katniss. "He'll have a condom on, but you'll need some help when that monster cuke is making guacamole out of your vag-acado."

I watch as she drizzles lube on her proxy part and tell her when enough is probably enough. "Peeta, you'll want to help her spread it around."

He makes a face. "I am not touching that." When Katniss scowls at him, he reluctantly rubs the K-Y into the about-to-be-decimated avocado.

I stick my tongue out at him. "Now, let's put a condom on that monster. Katniss? Would you do the honors? Peet, you'll need to show her, or at least hold the beast still."

Peeta shoots me a dirty look, but his eyes go very dark when she rips open the condom wrapper and gingerly places it at the tapered tip.

"Pinch the tip so you leave some room." Peeta tells her quietly. She finishes rolling the condom onto the vegetable while Finn and I supervise. It's largely unnecessary, because Peeta has his head close to her ear and is murmuring directions that have her very focused and flushed. I swear that I can hear his heavy breathing from here.

Or is that R. Kelly?

Finn comes up and puts his arm around me, taking the opportunity to whisper, "We should have videoed this. We could have our own freaking YouTube channel full of PSAs." He raises his voice and explains that the next step is to ease the cucumber into the avocado the way one would…well…make guacamole.

I smother a chips-and-dip joke. "If you feel resistance, you want to wiggle your hips. Don't just pound, drill," I advise. "You're not storming a castle with a battering ram here. It's about comfort, not speed; just take it easy. And don't expect her to come!"

Peeta is fixated on her small hands gripping the cuke. I have to hope that at least Katniss is still listen—

"Please tell me that Johanna isn't making breakfast," Brue says, yawning, as he walks into the room. He's bare-chested, wearing sweats that hang so low I can confirm that there is no way he is wearing underwear beneath them.

I snort. "You wish. You guys know you love my cooking." Finn squeezes my shoulder when a noise from the table makes me turn to find that Katniss and Peeta have dropped their learning aids. "Where are you going?"

"We're finished here." Katniss is flushed, tugging Peeta toward the stairs.

"Wait! You forgot your complimentary gifts." I rush over and give each of them a gift bag, telling Katniss conspiratorially, "If you try the vibrator, use the lowest setting and remember: lots of lube."

Peeta leans over and I think he's going to kiss my cheek. Instead, he whispers, "You may have single-handedly wrecked guacamole for me forever."

I whisper back with a wink, "You kids have fun. There's an instant icepack in Everdeen's bag for afterward. Unless you were overstating the size of your cuke, she's gonna need it. Oh, and don't forget to fill out the course evaluation form!"

Envy twists my stomach for a split second as they make their way upstairs. When I turn back to Brue, he's watching Finn throw out our violated vegetables.

"I don't want to know, do I?" Brue asks.

Finn shakes his head and holds up a pristine zucchini and a tomato. "How about I make us all a nice frittata?"

I burst out laughing. Strangely enough, that does sound delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another, slightly modified, Prompts in Panem Seven Deadly Sins submission (Envy). It's slightly shorter than a normal chapter, for which I apologize. 
> 
> Oh, a further clarification: I like guacamole. No avocados were harmed in the making of this chapter.
> 
> I really wanted Finn to cook and then tell them that he was going to make a Beyomelet, but I just couldn't do it without laughing hysterically.


	27. Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: unplanned pregnancy

"Peeta, have I told you lately how glad I am that you're my bro? That meal was awesome." Gale wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back, putting his arm around Madge. The rest of us are still eating our pork chops roasted with apples and fennel served with mashed potatoes so laden with butter that they're tinged golden. I swear I can almost feel my thighs getting larger, but the warmth from this meal spreads from the inside out that is just perfect for this rainy, March day.

It's hard to believe that Spring Break is next week.

When we collectively can't eat another bite, Peeta pulls out a homemade blueberry pie and ice cream. He dishes it out with Katniss's help while I'm thinking through practice problems for my calculus midterm. That class – and the mid-term from hell – has been keeping me awake nights for the better part of a week. I know that I can ace the test if I just don't run out of time, which means drilling on the problems until I can do them backwards and forwards.

I barely hear Finn ask what everyone's doing for Spring Break and the resulting cacophony. I vaguely register everyone spouting off about the same plans I have: none.

Finn taps his fork against his water glass and clears his throat. "Well, Annie and I would be thrilled if you would all come with us to Vegas." He pulls her closer to his side and drops a kiss on the tip of her nose. "We're getting married."

_Wait._

_What?_

I register the same surprise on everyone's face but Finn ignores us and continues to gaze at Annie with doe eyes. The room has gone completely silent as ice cream plops off of the scooper back into the Dreyer's container.

"What the fuck, Finn?" I don't even bother holding back the confusion in my voice. "No offense, Annie, but you guys haven't known each other more than half a second."

Annie pushes Finn away so that she can turn to face the group but I notice she has a death-grip on his hand that makes his fingers pale. A faint blush stains her cheeks. "I…we know that it's sudden. We hope that you'll support us. We would really love to have all of you there. The…the truth is…I'm pregnant. We just found out—"

Before she can continue, I'm out of my seat and pushing out the back door. I am literally gasping for breath as I sit down and draw my knees up to my chest. I draw great big gulps of air into my lungs.

What the fuck is Finn thinking! We're eighteen. He can't even live without a meal plan despite the fact that his apartment has a kitchen. And he's going to have a baby?

I hear the door behind me close. Without even looking, I know it's Finn.

"You're mad," he says as he sits next to me.

"And you're stupid. _What_ are you thinking? How could you do this?"

"This is my choice, Jo. It's not Annie's fault, either, so don't go blaming her. The condom broke one night and neither of us suggested the morning after pill. I want a family." Finn shrugs. "It's just going to happen a little sooner than I had planned."

I stare at him like I've never seen him before. "Do you truly believe that bullshit? Finn, this isn't some sort of game. Think about Annie and her future, if you're not going to think about yours. Do you _get_ how much work babies are? You're not ready for this. And she'll end up picking up the slack. You'll wreck her." I think back to when my brothers and sister were born: how tired my stepmom and dad looked for months after each one. I can't even imagine trying to do that and go to school at the same time.

Finn shifts and sighs heavily. "Jo, look at me. Please."

His voice has lost the playful quality: he sounds more tired than I think I've ever heard him. I glance at him and notice that he's pale and his eyes are a little glassier than normal, the way a sleepless and perhaps tearful night looks on the rest of us. That more than anything proves to me that he gets the enormity of what's happening.

I raise my eyebrow at him.

"I've always been on your team. Always. No questions asked. We've been through some rough times together and I could really use your support. I need you telling me what I'm doing wrong and keeping me in line. Please? I need you with me on this."

I think back to how he was there for me when Carys died. Hell, he even took the brunt of my anger and put up with me not speaking to him. I always knew he was there, though. Always. How can I turn my back on someone who was willing to be my punching bag?

Fuck.

He knows I'm in when I say, "You realize how fucked up this kid is going to be, right?"

His arms cut me off in a hug so tight that I almost can't breathe. "Thank you," he whispers over the sound of the door opening and closing.

"Finn? Did you ask her?" Annie asks quietly. Brue stands there with his hands shoved in his front pockets, looking completely uncomfortable.

Finn squeezes my shoulders one more time and wipes his eyes. "No. I was…I was just getting to that part." He clears his throat. "Annie and I were wondering if you and Brue would be our witnesses. You know, stand up with us during the ceremony."

I close my eyes. It's one thing to support Finn, whatever that really means. It's another to go down the rabbit hole and support what is surely to be a farce of a marriage. My mind plays the scenarios out: if I don't go at all, he'll still go through it. It won't change anything but it will cost me a friendship that I've had most of my life. If I go and don't stand up with him, it may do the same thing. I think I finally get where Katniss was coming from when she felt pressured by the fear of losing Gale.

Because I don't want to lose Finn. He's closer than blood.

So I stand and move closer to Annie. Putting my arms around her, I tell her how happy I am for the two of them and how they can count on me. Finn puts his arms around both of us and squeezes. I meet Brue's eyes. Only he seems to see through my bullshit with a raised eyebrow.

-o—

How Madge and Annie pull off planning the big event and dealing with mid-terms is anyone's guess. Madge is like a general, though, and we've got plane and hotel reservations for Monday and Tuesday night, food, flowers - you name it by the end of mid-term week. I don't really ask too much about the details, since weddings aren't really my thing. Madge announces after our last midterm that we're ready to go look for outfits the next day. Annie looks like she's ready to throw up at the prospect and I wonder if morning sickness is going to set in before the wedding. I have this sudden mental picture of her spewing on Finn at the altar that makes me want to giggle hysterically. It would serve him right.

I've kept my mouth shut. I can tell Katniss has caught on to how I really feel because she sends doubtful looks my way whenever Madge bounces into our room with some detail on her list checked off. When Katniss is home, that is. I'm not sure if it was our little Sex Ed class or Annie and Finn's announcement that has her clinging to Peeta like a lifeline. Frankly, I'm glad she's gone a lot. It lets me think. And run. And cry. All without a lot of questions.

Even Brue doesn't ask. We run almost every day, a punishing pace that leaves little room for talking and helps me catch at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before the nightmare of a small, faceless body floating in a pool of water wakes me. When he tries to steer the conversation to my dark circles, or the little bit of weight I've lost, I tell him that it's midterms. Sometimes I ignore him completely, turning away from the questions in his dark blue eyes.

What am I supposed to tell him? That I'm afraid that Finn is making a huge mistake? That no matter how I try to approach the problem, I lose my best friend no matter what the outcome?

So we board the plane, the boys already joking around about the days of debauchery in Sin City. Annie slides into the seat next to me, her pale skin luminous despite the dark circles under them. It appears I'm not the only one troubled by the decisions of the last week. Tightness grips my heart.

"How are you feeling?" I find my voice and ask.

Annie shrugs, sending the messy bun on the top of her head swaying precariously. "I've been better." She drops her eyes to the seat back pocket. "I know I'm not supposed to say that, being the _bride_ and all…but that's how I feel."

I nod, even though she's not looking at me. I'm not sure I can say that I can imagine what she's thinking, because I can't. But relief rushes through me that at least one of them gets the importance of what they are about to do.

"Jo, I know we haven't talked much since…since all this started. And I know you probably don't agree with it. But I swear, _I swear_ that I will do everything I can to make him happy."

She's fiddling with the safety card, bangles jingling until finally I stop her hands and she looks up at me, clearly surprised. There are tears in her eyes when I finally say, "I know you will."

Because I do. I know she'll try to keep him happy. I'm just not sure if Finn will return the favor.

-o—

The Monte Carlo isn't too over-the-top for a Vegas hotel. I'm not sure what I expected, but there's not a single Elvis impersonator to be seen. Madge has booked the girls into two sets of adjoining rooms, so we run back and forth through the connecting doors for the whole first night after shooing the boys away. God only knows what sort of debauchery they get into with their fake IDs, but somehow, we have fun just staying in and ordering room service. Madge and Annie talk us into doing makeovers, so we wear facial masks and paint our nails until we're all too exhausted to do much else but climb into bed and pass out.

Who knew we could do all of that without alcohol?

I'm not the last one to wake: that honor goes to Katniss. I am, however, the one least likely to win any beauty competitions first thing in the morning. Madge looks like freaking birds and deer were tying ribbons in her hair first thing, and Annie's skin glows with a translucent vulnerability. Even the fact that Madge explains Annie's been puking off and on since waking doesn't detract. That does explain why Annie goes greener than a spirulina- and-fruit smoothie when I suggest breakfast, so Katniss and I disappear for a while before we all braid each other's hair or whatever other girly shit we're supposed to do before the ceremony.

We bump into Peeta downstairs at the Starbucks.

"Hey, guys. I wish I had known you were coming down and I would have grabbed something for you." He drops a kiss on Katniss's lips, arms weighted down with bags and a drink carrier.

"Looks like your hands are already full. Can we help you with something?" I motion to his payload.

"Nah, I got it. I just came down to arrange for a cake for Finn and Annie. I'm still bummed I can't bake my own, but you can't have a wedding without cake."

Cake? At least something about this day will be good, especially if Peeta chose it. "That was sweet of you. How's Finn?"

"Jo's asking because Annie's sick this morning. Jo thinks morning sickness, but Madge and I think it's nerves." Katniss side-eyes me.

Peeta shrugs. "He seems fine. At least as fine as a guy who's hungover can be. None of us wanted to risk getting caught with fake IDs, so we kept it pretty low-key. We spent the night renting movies and drinking in the room. "

By his blush, I'm pretty sure _renting movies_ means a certain kind of movie. That might even mean that Everdeen will finally get lucky. I'm lost in the thought of what Everlark hotel sex might look like when I overhear Peeta telling Katniss to grab the extra room key from his pocket.

Whoa.

"What's going on?" I watch as Katniss fishes for the key. Good thing Peeta's wearing loose shorts and not jeans, or I'd probably be privy to his Paul Bunyan hard-on.

Peeta glances over at me. "Katniss and I are sharing a room tonight."

Oh? _Oh?_

I flash back to my earlier Everlark fantasy of white sheets and rented porn, where the sweet and virginal Ms. Everdeen is shown the path to physical ecstasy by none other than her blond god of a boyfriend who has a dick like Thor's Hammer.

Wait a sec.

"If you're bunking with Peeta, does that mean that Gale and Madge are also pairing up?" That's probably the dumbest question I've asked all semester, barring the Lenny Kravitz lookalike debacle. Of _course_ Madge is going to room with Gale. She probably brought a ball-gag and a bullwhip with her.

Katniss looks sheepish and Peeta just nods.

I'm afraid to ask this next question. Because I have a funny feeling that I already know the answer. "So, um, exactly who am I rooming with tonight?"

They exchange a look. Katniss's eyebrows draw together in a frown as she tries to silently communicate something to Peeta.

"I'm right-fucking-here, so stop being brainless and just tell—"

"Brue." Peeta cuts me off. "Brue said he's be okay rooming with you. It's just for one night, Jo." Peeta pleads. I know he wants to get laid, but it still hits me like a roundhouse kick to the stomach.

"And you spend nights in his room all the time. There are two beds, anyway, so you guys can just hang out like you do all the time." Katniss crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. I know that she's silently telling me that they wouldn't have taken matters into their own hands if I had just made a move on him already. But I think she's missing the point here: I don't want to sleep with someone who refers to me as _okay to room with for a night._ Sure, if nothing good is on TV tonight, I might bone him. But it doesn't mean that I'm going to be happy about it.

I spit out his name so she gets how betrayed I feel. "Brue? You have me sleeping with _Brue_ tonight? Well that will be the perfect end to a perfect day, won't it? You remember that while Peeta's slipping you that twelve inch double meat sandwich of this."

I storm off to get a double espresso to go with my Naked Juice. Yeah, I normally don't drink coffee, but I need something to get me into ass-kicking form. I ignore Everdeen on the way back to our room.

She puts up with it for a couple of floors, and then rounds on me. "What is your problem, Jo? I thought you would be happy about this!" At my dismissive look, she snorts. "Yeah, you heard me: _happy._ We're throwing a warm-blooded guy, who you obviously _like_ in your direction! You've spent the last few months just moping around and we're trying to help you."

"I can find my own dates. And you're just saying this so you don't feel guilty."

"Guilty? Why would I feel guilty? Because of Peeta? I can text him and let him know that you and I will be rooming together tonight. Do you want that? Then we can spend all night talking about why you're unhappy."

"I am _not_ unhappy." I stalk out of the elevator and down to our room.

Everdeen has to jog to keep up. "You push yourself in _every_ way: you're running a ton, you're so thin I bet you fit in my pants. You run and study and run and study, and that's it. That's not like you. The only time I see you smile is when you're with him." She stops me when we reach the door. "Jo, give him a chance."

Madge raises an eyebrow at us through the connecting door. Annie's curled up on one of the beds, asleep.

Katniss's voice is quiet as she explains, "Jo just found out about sleeping arrangements for the night. How's Annie?"

"I think she's just tired. It's been a crazy couple of weeks." Madge glances at the sleeping girl in the next room.

"I'm sure." I snort.

Madge rounds on me, golden hair flying. "You think this is easy for her?"

I'm angry and I know I should just keep my mouth shut, but I don't. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. All of you are just so interested in Happily Ever After that you're sitting here with blinders on. There is no such thing as Happily Ever After." I'm breathing hard and I don't realize how loud I've gotten until we hear movement from the next room.

"Jo—" Katniss starts.

I cut her off. "I'm not like you guys: I don't need a man to make me feel whole. I'm fine, perfectly fine."

Madge comes closer to me, her ice-princess act back in place. "Clearly, you have all the answers. It's one thing to need a man. It's another thing to run away from needing _anyone_. We took our cue from you: you were happy to put your opinion out there when you wanted Katniss and Peeta to get together. You're going to criticize them for being a couple now? Stop being a hypocrite and at least recognize that we're doing it because we care about you."

She stares me down, steel behind those violet eyes.

"Madge?" Annie's quiet voice comes to us from the next room. She sounds groggy and scared, like she's had a bad dream.

"Coming, Annie." She pulls something from her pocket and hands it to me. "I don't want you upsetting her, and this needs to get to Finn anyway. It's Annie's grandmother's ring. She's going to use it as a wedding ring."

It's a pretty piece of hardware, bigger than my step-mom's diamond and obviously a family heirloom. The sheer weight of it brings home one more time the enormity of the step they're taking. Madge folds my hands over it.

"You may not believe in Happily Ever After, Jo. You may not like it or want it for yourself. But I would think you would respect our decisions like we respect yours: Katniss and Peeta's, mine and Gale's, and Annie and Finn's."

Madge turns to go through the connecting door, but I stop her.

"You guys are just doing it so you can get laid. And Finn and Annie… they're just crazy."

She turns over her shoulder. "Maybe they are, but it's their choice. And you think we're doing it so we can get laid? Did it ever dawn on you that we're doing it so _you_ can?"

-o—

By the time I knock on Finn's door, I've cooled off somewhat. Maybe Madge is right and what I need is to get back in the saddle. Who better to do that with than Brue? He's a friend, so it won't be awkward, and I don't mind being around him. I won't deny that I'd like to see more of his body, either. Plus, the trip gives us a time limit: once we're back in L.A., we can forget it ever happened. This is the perfect opportunity to seduce Brue MacLeod.

_After all, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas._

Right?

"Jo!" Finn throws the door open, a towel draped around his hips, face covered in shaving cream. I have to blink a couple of times from the cloud of sexy that is Finn Odair getting ready for the day. He motions me into the room and I spy the remains of two pizzas, two six packs, and a bottle of tequila on the table. Gale and Brue are playing Xbox and laughing. Peeta's over by the window with a sketch pad on his lap, clearly lost in thought.

"Hey, Madge sent me with, uh, Annie's ring." I thrust my hands in the pockets of my shorts as Finn pulls me over to the small alcove near the bathroom while he finishes shaving.

"Oh. Well, thanks." He looks contrite, like he's distracted by his quest for a raucous good time.

I frown as I watch him in the mirror. "Finn, are you sure this is a good idea? It's not too late to change your mind. I'll support you. Hell, I'll even put you on an early plane and explain things to Annie myself if you want…"

"I just forgot about the ring, that's all." He hangs his head like a bad puppy who wants a treat.

"You _forgot_ the reason we came to Vegas? What does that say about this decision, Finn?" I'm pushing, hard. Probably too hard, really. But he's got to stop this now.

"Jo, stop. Please. This is right. It is." He dries his face and his hands and then holds one out to me. I take it and let him pull me into the bathroom, unsure whether he's trying to convince me he's serious, or he wants the ring.

Wordlessly, I pull the ring out of my pocket and hand it to him. He stares at it in surprise – it's obviously not what he expected either. He moves it side to side so the facets catch the light. "Well, it's a little outside my budget, don't you think?"

I frown at the guilt I hear in his voice. "You'd certainly have to save up for a while to top it."

"A borrowed ring, an apartment that my Dad pays for, no job…I'm quite the underdog in this game, aren't I?" He smiles and the Odair dimples flash, but it's got less wattage than his normal grin.

"Yeah. Which is why this is fucking insa—"

"If could you just see the way she looks at me, Jo…It's..It's everything. " He pauses, his green eyes meeting mine. "I can count on you, right? Like you promised?"

"Yeah. But Finn—"

He looks down at the sparkling ring in his hand. "Because I need you, Jo. I need you to be on the sidelines, cheering me on. I don't think I can come from behind without someone rooting for me."

I'm silent for what seems like eternity as his words sink in. I want to tell him that a family is not something you just magically "get". It's work. And frankly Finn Odair hasn't had to work at much in his charmed life.

_Like you have, Jo?_

Maybe I'm not in a position to judge.

So I put my arms around him and hug, heedless of his slipping towel and my damp eyes. "I love you, Finn. You'll always have me."

"I love you too, Jo." Finn rests his chin on my head and squeezes back.

"Finn, you done in here yet?" I don't have to turn around to picture the sardonic curve of Brue's brow.

Finn pulls back and hands me a tissue after straightening his towel. "Yeah. Yeah. You go ahead."

I sniff and wipe my nose before I turn around. "I should get back. Hey, Brue."

A frowning Brue pushes off the doorjamb, uncrosses his arms and nods in my direction before entering the small room as Finn and I leave.

"Jo, thanks for delivering this." Finn holds up the ring. "See you in a bit?"

There's nothing left to do but nod.

-o—

"To Annie and Finn!" Brue raises a glass in toast and we all clink and drink once we've returned from the chapel. Brue has furnished two bottles of champagne, and Peeta has not only provided a cake, but non-alcoholic sparkling cider as well. Annie looks to be restored, her color better than the painfully pale bride that we dressed with no more than two hours ago. Her smile sparkles as brightly as the ring on her finger, her dress the same luminous green as her eyes.

"Thank you all for coming – it means so much. And Peeta, thank you for the cake. That was just so thoughtful!" Annie claps her hands in front of her, genuinely touched.

Peeta smirks. "I wish I could have baked it for you, but this will have to do. And you should thank Madge for letting me know that you were wearing green and that you liked seahorses." He motions to the cake, which has a ribbon of green fondant on each of the two small layers, and a golden seahorse on top. It matches the tiny one that Annie wears dangling from the bow on her dress. I know she's also wearing a green and gold garter with a tiny seahorse on it. Somehow I doubt that the boys will see that one.

Annie walks to him and kisses him on the cheek. "It's lovely, truly."

Finn's over there in a heartbeat. "Unhand my wife, Mellark!" He dips Annie and kisses her while we laugh.

I find my eyes drawn to Brue. He looks handsome in a dark suit and his orange, green, and gold boutonniere that matches the small bouquet I dumped on the dresser the minute we got back to the room. I'll have to wait a little longer to pick out the small flowers that Madge has pinned to my hair. I look like such a bridesmaid that I can't even stand it. At least the dress – a deep gold-colored, antique lace short sheath – doesn't look too bad. I remember my earlier notion to seduce him. If I had been smarter, I would have asked Madge for pointers.

He moves to my side while Annie and Finn cut the cake and feed each other – no cake smash for her. Finn does get a little bit of frosting on her nose, but then he kisses it off. More kisses follow and more laughter as Peeta makes short work of serving.

"How are you?" Brue leans down so he's speaking right in my ear. I wonder if he also has a clear shot down the front of my almost-nonexistent cleavage.

It's a weird question, so I look up at him in confusion. "Fine. My feet hurt, I have freaking _flowers_ in my hair and I wish I could go for a run. Other than that…You?"

"Good. I love weddings."

 _Well, that figures._ "That makes one of us." I take a bite of the cake: it's nowhere near as good as Peeta can make. I let it slide, though, because it's _cake._

He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. "I hear we're roommates tonight."

I almost choke on the chocolate cake with cherry filling. After I cough through my recovery, I nod. "Yeah. Feel free to move your stuff over here whenever. I'll give you a key if you want." I shrug and point through the connecting door. Katniss has already moved her stuff out and I've made sure that my underwear aren't draped anywhere inappropriate.

"I had an idea - since I'm sure you don't want to be listening to Madge and Gale do whatever it is they have planned for tonight any more than I do and I know you like music – want to come to a club?"

I finish my last bite of cake and reach for the champagne again. Monte Carlo definitely could take some pointers on moistness over looks for next time. "Aren't we going to have trouble getting in?"

"My dad knows some people."

I look at him under my lashes. I've been around Finn enough to know what that means: we'll get there and he'll have to laugh and joke and make promises that his dad will call someone or listen to someone's demo tape. No matter what, though, it's preferable to listening to Gale as he cries out _thank you, Ma'am, may I have another._

"Sounds like a plan, then." I raise my glass to him before turning to watch my happy friends celebrate being in love.

-o—

"Best. Idea. Ever." I slur a little as I stumble over the room's threshold in my heels. My feet moved past the _hurt_ stage before we ever left the hotel. Now they, and everything else, are pleasantly numb.

I love it.

Brue's plan to hit a club was better than a ten mile run. Not only did he and his dad know the DJ, so the sycophantic sucking up was kept to a minimum, but said DJ kept us in drinks all night. I _love_ this guy. Because the bestest-of-the best-parts was that Pitbull was at the club.

_Freaking Pitbull._

Not only did I get to dance with the guy – and let me tell you, those Cuban hips know exactly how to do the in and out – but I'm pretty sure I got his autograph. On my ass. Which also means that he at least saw my phone number, thanks to Finn and his ingenious gift.

 _Oye_.

"Jo, you're drunk." Brue laughs breathlessly as he drags me across the threshold. I've draped myself around him in a teeny exaggeration of my inebriated state. Is it my fault he smells good, even slightly sweaty from dancing?

And Angus can say what he wants, but Brue _can_ dance. I'm not sure what possessed him to open up tonight, but he and I were out on the dance floor for the better part of the night. I was having a blast and he kept up with me, leaving only to have a couple of conversations with the DJ, presumably talking "shop", and to get us drinks. I don't think I've ever been on a date where the guy has paid me this much attention while my clothes were on and I freaking loved it.

Can I help it if I want to make it up to him by taking a shower and then making the hotel maid earn every single penny? That _is_ why they put two beds in the room, right? So no one has to sleep in the wet spot?

He drops the key card on the dresser and pushes me to sit on the bed. I immediately flop back in a fit of the giggles that amplify into cackling laughter when I feel his hands unfastening the straps of my sandals.

I'm expecting him to trail a hand up my thigh, or maybe do something with his tongue, but he pats my knee. He heads into the bathroom. I hear running water and adjust my fantasy to include that shower that had sounded so good a second ago.

He hoists me off the bed and I lean against him, getting closer to the dark stubble I can see on his face that I have to squint to see. I wonder what his jaw tastes like at the spot that it meets his neck. Is it salty? Does it taste like aftershave? Does he even wear any?

He completely wrecks my foreplay fantasy when he tugs me into the bathroom and says, "Why don't you hop in the shower first? Don't lock the door so I can make sure you don't pass out."

I blink at him in the gathering steam, unsure if I just heard him right.

"Oh, right. Your dress probably has a zipper. Let me help you…" He fumbles awkwardly around the back of my dress like he doesn't want to spend too much time touching me. He finds the zipper and slides it down enough that he's sure I can get the dress off by myself.

Those are not the deft hands of a guy who's going to be urging me to scream his name later. As a matter of fact, my doctor - the one whose job it is to shove his hands so far inside me that he can use me as a Muppet – may have gentler hands that that.

He nods, not meeting my eyes and shuts the door most of the way. He's at least courteous enough to make sure it doesn't latch so that I'm not tempted to lock it. Because I am. I'm tempted to lock myself in the room and contemplate how unattractive I must be that Brue MacLeod left the room and took his dick with him.

I don't, though. Instead I disrobe and slide into the shower until the hot jets wash away my sweat and makeup and the smell from the club. If there are tears at all, they're also washed down the drain. I'm left with wet hair, red eyes and a steely determination by the time I shut off the water.

"It's all yours," I say as I stride from the bathroom feeling much more clear-headed a few minutes later. I don't exactly get why Brue won't make a move on me, but I'm just going to ask him rather than walk around feeling hurt. So I slide into my usual _Practice Safe Sex – Make love with a Trojan_ t-shirt and boxer shorts. I choose a bed, silently telling myself that I deserve first choice if I'm not going to ride his log flume. I flip channels while I wait and try not to imagine all of that water cascading down the flesh of his that I've seen before.

It's an oddly intimate feeling, waiting for someone to finish showering. And it makes me nervous, right up until he comes out of the bathroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt that is so old I can practically see through it.

He scrubs at his head with a towel. "Anything good on?"

I toss the remote onto his bed. "I think we should have sex."

The towel stops. At least I know I know I have his attention, especially when he shuts off the television. "Who put you up to this?"

That's not exactly the reaction I had anticipated. "No – no one. I just thought that, well, we're in Vegas. We're in the same room. We're both single. We're both disease free. Why not?" I lean back on my arms.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes for a second as if he's stubbed a toe. "Ah. A _What happens in Vegas_ thing?"

"Exactly!" I thump the bed, glad he's on the same page.

He takes his time pulling back the covers and fluffing a pillow before sitting on his own bed. I can't read his expression, but he's taking too much care with his bed linens to be thinking of ways we fit together. Before he even opens his mouth, I can see the gentle let-down in his sapphire eyes.

"Jo, I don't think that would work."

"You do have all the necessary working parts, right? And they are disease free?" Whatever his expression is, it makes me want to stab something repeatedly.

"Yes, I do. I just…I can't be that for you." At my raised eyebrow, he explains. "A one-night stand."

"Why not?" Dear God, I am rooming with the only eighteen year old on the planet with scruples. I bet I could knock on any other random door in this hotel and get stuffed tighter than a turkey at Thanksgiving. Of all the boys in all the hotel rooms in Las Vegas, I have to room with this one?

"Because the last time I tried that, I ended up falling in love with her. And since she didn't love me back, it sucked. I'm not into that sort of pain."

I only catch half of his sentence, but I can read sincerity on his face. And pain. For a second I want to find this random girl and pull her hair out while making her kiss his picture.

"Besides, I don't want to be a rebound for you."

"What? You mean for Brian? That was over almost five months ago!" I'm shocked by his statement. Five months is like three or four relationships in Jo-time.

He shakes his head and says gently, "Not Brian. Any idiot could see he didn't really mean anything to you. Finn." The look he sends me is so full of restrained pity that it pushes me back against the headboard.

_What the hell is he talking about?_

"I heard you today, Jo. And it's obvious just from watching you: you're in love with Finn. I'm sorry. Today must have been so hard for you."

I suck air into my lungs for a second before the peals of laughter hit. I fall onto my side and have to grab my stomach or I'm afraid I actually will puke, that's how hard I'm laughing. I laugh until my voice is hoarse and tears run salty tracks into my hair.

He waits patiently until my outburst tapers to hiccups and chuckles. "You two should take it easy on Annie. I know Finn is trying to let you down gently, but she's got to have picked up on it by now. You're pretty intimidating competition."

"I'm not in love with Finn." I force it out after a fresh gale of laughter hits when he talks about me being competition. _Has he seen Annie?_

"You can stop pretending, Jo. I heard you today. Hell, any idiot can see it: you guys are always touching or hugging or high-fiving."

I suck in a breath as I think about all the times Brue has seen Finn and I together. Yeah, we touch a lot, but we're like brother and sister. The idea of anything more is just insane. But from Brue's point of view, and especially what he thinks he heard today…

"That's just normal stuff. We're friends." I shake my head in denial.

"Do you touch Peeta that much?"

Again, his look of pity freezes me to the spot and I answer before I think. "Not unless I'm kicking his ass." I wince because it sounds like Finn is special. And he is. Sort of. "Finn and I, we have a special bond. We tell each other that we love each other all the time…"

His eyebrow rises. "This is why you don't believe in Happily Ever After. You've never admitted to yourself that you were in love with him. It's also why you run like you have demons chasing you. You should just admit it."

I close my eyes and rub my temples where a headache is already forming. "I'm not in love with Finn. Hell, I've never been in love! Being in love is being all soft and mushy. Look at Madge! Or Katniss." It's a confession I've never shared with anyone. Why should I? Love is something you read in books. And every love story has an unhappy ending eventually.

Brue laughs. "Come on. Madge? Soft and mushy? She might look like a sex-kitten, but she's not. And Katniss? Didn't you tell me that she guts her own game? If that's mushy, I'm not sure what hard looks like." He considers her for a moment. "It's not all pain and unhappy endings, Jo."

I start in surprise as he practically reads my thoughts as I get up to get some aspirin from my bag. And then another thought comes that fills me with a sense of betrayal.

"So…tonight? That was all about pity?" I'm not sure what I'm after, but I can feel a blush that makes my head throb harder.

He waits for me to swallow from my water bottle. When I meet his eyes in a silent challenge, he looks at his hands where they rest on the covers. "No. No, it wasn't. I had a great time with you, I always do. I think that's the most surprising thing about you – how much fun you are. It's so easy to label you a bitch sometimes." He sneaks a glance at me under his lashes. "You're not going to win any humanitarian awards, are you? But you are fierce and loyal and independent as all hell. And you are so wicked-smart that your sense of humor just cuts through anything. It's a weakness I have, that sense of humor."

"Yeah, I really brighten up a room," I say sarcastically.

He shakes his head. "No, you don't. But I'm never bored around you, Jo. Every day with you is an adventure. I guess…I wanted to do something to take your mind off of today. No one should go through that sort of heartache alone."

I shut my eyes and pinch my nose. Even my eyeballs throb. "Let's just go to sleep and forget this ever happened. Can we do that?"

He doesn't answer, but shuts both bedside lamps off.

"Good night, Jo."

"Good night."

I feel so many different things that I don't think I'll be able to sleep. What finally gets me to dreamland is the sound of Brue's breathing drifting over to me. We may not be in the same bed, but we are in the same room and the thought is oddly comforting.

_You've got that right, Brue: I'm never bored._


	28. Waking Up in Vegas: A Katniss and Peeta Outtake

"The cake was really a great idea. What made you think of it?" Katniss throws the keycard on the dresser. Gripping the edge, she eases her heels off and breathes a sigh of relief as she grips the carpet with her toes.

Peeta follows her into the room, throwing the deadbolt as he shuts the door. "All weddings should have cake. Besides, it's not a celebration without one."

"You get that people can have parties without cake, right?"

"Not good ones." Peeta smiles. "Can I use the bathroom first?"

He's already halfway there before Katniss can answer, but she doesn't mind. She could use a few minutes to herself to detox from the crazy emotional rollercoaster she's been riding all day. Frankly, that much feeling wipes her out and she wishes for nothing more than a brisk hike in the woods to clear her mind. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she can almost feel the cool breeze and hear the rustling leaves.

"Tired?" Peeta asks. He's drying his face with a towel, having already changed into sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

"Yeah. Busy day. Thanks for rescuing me at dinner." Katniss gets up, gathers her things, and heads toward the bathroom.

Peeta says loudly so she can hear from the next room, "You mean when the wedding night jokes got out of hand? Annie looked tired anyway and I was maxed out on Gale mooning all over Madge. Those two were worse than the newlyweds. If I had known that Johanna and Brue were the ones keeping things clean, I never would have let them bail on us."

After the cake, Brue and Johanna had taken off while the rest of the party went to dinner. Katniss didn't begrudge her roommate a break. Jo hadn't seemed right all week and had looked like she was going to cry during the ceremony. Katniss is sure Jo needs a night to relax and let go because she is wound tighter than an eight-day clock.

_Which is why she needs to go out with Brue._

"Do you think Johanna and Brue are having a good time?" she says from the bathroom, loud enough for Peeta to hear.

He laughs. "I think he's taking one for the team tonight and we all owe him. Although, if anyone can get her to lighten up, it's Brue." He shrugs at Katniss's shocked expression as she rounds the corner. "What? It's true. She's been surly since before Valentine's Day."

"I wish the two of them would just…you know."

"Fuck?" At Katniss's dirty look, he laughs again. "What am I supposed to call it? Because Johanna Mason – the girl who wanted us to make pornographic salad – does not _make love_. And Brue seems like the sort who would want more than forty minutes of fun because there's nothing on TV. It's just an odd match, that's all."

Katniss finished putting her stuff away. "I can't believe you just said that! Jo's a good friend."

"I never said she wasn't. She's great. She's just better when she's focused on someone or something _other than us._ Brue's really intense, though. He puts these letters on the bottoms of his socks and only wears As with As, Bs with Bs… you get the idea. Can you picture Johanna with someone like that? _"_ Peeta turns up the volume on the iPhone docking station and tugs Katniss to her feet.

"You don't think they'll work?" Katniss frowns.

" _I think_ that I didn't get to dance with my girlfriend today at the wedding. And weddings and dancing go as well as weddings and cake." He slides his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, leaning his forehead against hers.

Katniss leans into him, letting her arms rest on his broad shoulders. Peeta feels so good, so strong and solid, so reliable, that she closes her eyes and begins to hum along with _I've Been Loving You Too Long._ Peeta's arms tighten around her and she happily drops her head into the crook of his neck. His lips just brush her neck and she knows she won't be the first to pull away.

"It was a beautiful wedding," he says. "They looked so happy, don't you think?"

It's a well-kept secret that Katniss Everdeen likes weddings. Oh, she isn't gaga over them like some girls, and she doesn't fawn all over the big white dresses and the flowers. She's ambivalent to the fancy affairs put on by the ritzier half of her hometown, and some of the pairings make her question the sanity of the bride, groom, and all of their combined families. But she enjoys cake, especially free cake, most especially free cake from Mellark's. And the loving looks that most couples exchange remind her of when her father was alive and her mother was happy and they were a family. Laughter and kisses and dances on the kitchen floor while she stood on her father's feet – weddings remind her of all of those things.

"They did." She doesn't bother to move her head.

Peeta cranes his neck to look at her. "That didn't sound very convincing."

"The whole day was a little weird, that's all." Katniss shrugs as they sway from side to side.

"Weird, how?" Peeta finally asks.

Katniss stares at him for a minute. Does he really want her to count the ways? "Let's see…we're in Las Vegas, celebrating the wedding of two friends who are both under twenty-one. Annie's wearing a ring that would pay for my family's property taxes for the entire year but has no plans to move out of the dorms. Madge and I couldn't decide this morning if Annie had morning sickness or was just vomiting over nerves. And Jo, who is best friends with the groom, looked like she wanted to cry during the ceremony."

Peeta scrutinizes her. "You don't like weddings?"

"I like weddings just fine. This one was just a little a little _strange_. It's like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be a big wedding, like from your side of town, or a little one from mine."

He laughs at her reference to the often overblown affairs of their hometown. "Okay, I'll give you that it's a little…unorthodox. But are you saying you don't think they're going to last?"

Katniss scrunches her brows together as she thinks. "Well, Finn's a great guy and all, but he's a spoiled little rich kid. I just don't know how he's going to deal with all of these new responsibilities."

"You don't think he's up for it?"

Katniss shakes her and speaks slowly as she tries to reason out what she's thinking. "Peeta, I've seen couples from my side of town get married and fail at it when they don't have half the responsibilities of what he's taking on. They know how to manage the little money they have and they have realistic expectations of what their life together will be, but they still can't make it work."

Peet slows to a stop. "And you think it's not the same from what you call my side of town? Marriage is _work_ , Katniss, no matter where you come from."

"I didn't say it wasn't the same, or that it wouldn't work." When he doesn't respond, she steps away from him. "Why are you mad?"

He takes a deep breath and asks quietly, "What about us, Katniss?" At her curious look, he explains, "What if it was us, instead of them?"

"It wouldn't be us. We would never get into that situation." She's sure she has a look of utter panic on her face, especially when she sees the hurt on Peeta's face."Not that…not that I don't want to do that…with you… you know. We just… we wouldn't get pregnant!"

His eyes flash. "Accidents happen, Katniss. Are you saying the idea of having a child with me is so horrible?"

"It has nothing to do with you, alright? I'm saying I would never allow a slip up like that to happen. You think marriage takes work? A _child,_ Peeta, takes even more work. It's putting someone else first, always. _Always._ I don't think there's anything wrong with me telling you that I'm not ready for that. Not with you, and not with anyone. It's the honest truth."

His shoulders sag. "Let's just go to bed."

Katniss stares at his rigid back as he climbs under the covers. He seems a million miles away and it leaves her feeling cold and alone. "I think I'll stay up a bit and read," she says quietly.

"Suit yourself." He replies promptly as he burrows further under the duvet. "Good night."

"Goodnight, Peeta."

-o—

Bright Las Vegas sunlight streaming through the window wakes her. It's not warm light, not like home, and it's not the thicker honeyed-sunlight that seems like it has its own casting call in L.A. This light is brutal, deadly, desert light. Shifting on the chair where she's spent the night, she laments the fact that they forgot to close the curtains and pulls the blanket up over her eyes to block it out. She's almost asleep, the chair she's in a cozy, comfortable nest, when she recalls that she didn't have a blanket last night because she had intended to crawl into bed with Peeta.

 _Peeta_.

He must have covered her sometime during the night after waking and finding her in the chair and not beside him. Ever the gentleman, he took it upon himself to tuck her in tight so she would be warm and comfortable. He is easily the most thoughtful, infuriating man she's ever met. How could he be such a gentleman when he was the one angry with her? It makes her want to scream, really, even as she blinks back a little moisture. How can he be so understanding and optimistic when it comes to relationships like Finn and Annie, but decide for himself that Brue and Jo are opposites and won't work?

She snorts a wry laugh as the sudden irony hits her – every single couple in their group is made up of opposites _except_ for Finn and Annie. Gale and Madge have the same class differences that she and Peeta do. If she's honest, it's ten times worse for them because she's the Mayor's daughter. And what was it Peeta had said? Brue alphabetizes his socks? It is hard to picture someone like that having any sort of relationship with her roommate. If anything, Finn and Annie are the most alike in the group, which means that Peeta is probably right and she is being too harsh in her assessment of their chances.

She wonders if Peeta's still angry about the personal side of last night's conversation. Should she apologize? She's been nothing but honest with him so far and, if he can't accept who she is, then maybe they need to re-think the whole dating thing. Her heart clenches at the thought of she and Peeta parting ways, though. She hears the sound of water running and assumes that he's taking a shower, which gives her a few minutes to come up with a plan to salvage what's left of their time before they have to board a plane.

She rises and gathers her things for the day: underwear, toiletries, and a change of clothes, while she keeps an ear out for the water to stop running. She doesn't know his morning routine well because she usually showers back at her dorm. It's suddenly imperative that she see him when she hears the door open and she rushes around the corner, startling him.

"Katniss!" He grabs her shoulders to steady her before they can collide. "I didn't think you were up yet. I was just going to shave."

She notices the sheen of blond stubble on his cheeks and his damp hair, but doesn't comment on either. "Can I…get in there for a minute?"

At her blush, he nods. "Go ahead. Like I said, I didn't realize you were awake."

She moves past him, shuts the door, and drops her toiletries on the counter before quickly taking care of the basic necessities. She looks around the room when she finishes: Peeta's towels are in a neat pile on the floor, his own toiletries lined up like little sentries next to where she's dumped hers. Even the hotel-furnished supplies are still neatly in their place. She shakes her head in surprise at how neat Peeta is. She supposes that she should know this – his room is fairly neat after all – but it makes her feel funny to see something as intimate as her toothbrush resting next to his razor.

"Peeta?" she opens the door. "Do you want to come back in and finish shaving while I brush my teeth? I'm pretty used to sharing a bathroom because of Prim."

At his surprised look, she moves out of the way and lets him into the small room. She spreads toothpaste on her toothbrush carefully and meets his eyes in the mirror. Taking a deep breath to try to quiet her suddenly racing pulse, she says, "I feel like I should explain better what I was thinking yesterday. I meant what I said – it's not you. I can still close my eyes and feel how desperate and hungry Prim and I were. How scared. I don't ever want to go back there and I never, ever want to see that hunger on another child's face again. I guess I could have phrased what I said yesterday better. So, I'm sorry for that."

He stands there staring at her as she begins brushing over her own sink, then lathers his face. "I need to apologize too. I wasn't listening yesterday to what you were trying to tell me." He stops lathering for a second to meet her eyes in the mirror before picking up his razor and scraping it along his skin, pausing periodically to rinse it in the sink full of water. "You're important to me, and I wasn't hearing you. I know we're not in exactly the same headspace when it comes to us. Your opinions are your opinions and I don't get to have a say. When I woke up last night, you weren't in bed with me. For a split second, I can't even tell you how frantic it made me that you might have left and I didn't know where you were or that something had happened to you. Then I saw you in that chair - you must have been having some kind of nightmare because you were making these horrible noises - and I just wanted to comfort you. So, I'm sorry. I just…I want to be with you. Just together. That's all."

Katniss ducks her head to swish and rinse in the other sink. Wiping her mouth, she considers him as he shaves, taking in the same careful precision Peeta brings to everything he does with his hands. She appreciates the flex of his forearms, the intense scrutiny of his blue eyes. She doesn't think she's ever seen him look at himself in the mirror, ever, let alone stare at himself with the light glinting off lashes so long they risk tangling together. Again and again the razor rasps against his skin in the quiet room until he stops and gives himself a cursory once-over.

Rinsing off and patting his skin dry, he turns to her and asks, "What do you think?"

She thinks that she likes being with him and seeing his little habits. Like the fact that he carefully uses a hot cloth against his skin before lathering the left side of his face first. Or the fact that he goes with the grain everywhere but on his neck and folds all of his towels neatly after wiping down the sink area when he's done.

She realizes he's staring at her like he expects an answer, but she can't even remember the question. To cover, she leans up and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, then rubs her cheek against his. "Mmmm, smooth."

She lets out a little yelp as Peeta grabs her around the waist and maneuvers her onto the counter. Rubbing his cheek against hers, he smatters kisses across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Finally, he drops one gently on her lips before her asks nervously, "Am I forgiven?"

Long lashes shield her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we…can we just forget about it?"

Peeta leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. She knows he's thinking that sooner or later they'll have to talk about all the things they "keep forgetting about". She just hopes that he doesn't decide to pressure her about that discussion today.

She can't help but feel a rush of relief when he moves his lips across her cheek to her ear and whispers, "I'm sure we can come up with something to do instead of talk." He bites down on her soft earlobe while his hand meanders up her leg to her SpongeBob SquarePants sleep shorts.

Katniss squeaks in embarrassment. "Peeta! I, uh…didn't get to shave yesterday. Jo rushed me out of the shower because she takes forever, then we ran down to get breakfast…Let me hop in the shower."

Peeta stills both his hands and his mouth and grins. "I can help you with that." He picks up his shaving cream like it's a question. "Are you game?"

Katniss swallows hard: on the one hand, she'd be crazy to let him. After all, legs aren't faces and she could end up a bloody mess. On the other hand, the hope and happiness shining from his eyes is a far cry from the shadows she put there last night. She can give him this small thing, for once. She figures he'll get bored and leave her to shower, and then they can go about their normal day.

At her small, hesitant nod, Peeta draws her leg up to the counter, removes her sock and places it neatly on the top of the toilet. He turns on the hot water into and tests the temperature. When he finds it to his liking, he runs a hand towel under it, rings out the hot towel, and lays it on her leg.

The heat sends a jolt through her even as she wonders what the towel is for. She recalls that Peeta had done something similar to his face and she shrugs to herself. "What's the towel for?"

Peeta looks up from where he concentrates on rubbing hot water into shaving cream in his cupped hand. "It's to open up the pores. Feels good, too, at least when I do it to my face."

Katniss nods because it _does_ feel good. The contrast of the super-hot towel and the cool countertop has goose bumps rising on her arms and other leg, though, and she knows that her nipples have to be poking through her top. She doesn't want to cross her arms in front of her and draw attention to them, so she just hopes that Peeta doesn't notice. It's not like her breasts are big enough to really draw his eyes, anyway.

He moves the towel and glides his slick hands up and down her calf. The cool menthol of the cream after the hot towel startles her a bit and Peeta's normally warm hands feel different coated in shaving cream. Just when she realizes how much she's enjoying the slide of his hands, he wipes them on a towel and picks up the razor.

"Ready?" he asks, hand resting under her thigh next to her knee. It would be a ticklish spot if he weren't supporting her leg with strong fingers.

She clears her throat. "Okay. I hope…I hope this isn't too icky."

He shrugs. "Why would it be? Hair is hair."

He focuses on the razor skimming along her leg and she marvels again at the length of his lashes in the breathless quiet of the room. His fingers twitch against her thigh. It's not a caress, but it might as well be for how hot Katniss feels. She's not sure if it's the steam, his touch, or his attention, but she feels pinned in place by so much more than a razor as she tries to hold still. Every move Peeta makes, every breath, is magnified by the fact that Katniss shouldn't move.

He finishes her lower leg and wets the hot towel again for her upper thigh before placing it there. "You shave up here too, right?" He brushes the back of his hand against her thigh before his eyes meet hers. She wants to moan at how dark and intent they are. She feels like the center of the universe and every cell in her body responds with wanting more contact, more _feeling._

Instead, she looks down at her leg and answers him huskily, "Yes."

She's ready when the towel moves again and his slippery hands replace it. It doesn't stop her from sucking in her breath and wiggling a little as heat spreads to the juncture of her thighs when his hands shift. She freezes, heart thumping as Peeta runs the razor over her knee before sighing in relief when he's finished there. Her relief turns to a squeal as he skims his hand up the outside of her thigh so he can rest his thumb on her hipbone and hold her still.

"Stop moving, Katniss. I don't want to cut you." Peeta's pink tongue peeks between his lips as he hones in on the task at hand.

Katniss feels the burn of his fingers where they grip her tightly through the thin cotton of her shorts. Peeta's held her hips before, fleeting touches or sometimes heavier ones when his arms wrap around her when she spends the night in his bed. But this? This is a heated awareness of exactly how close those fingers are – mere inches, really – to her heated core. She's already wetter than she's ever been, and that includes the oddly-erotic, crudité encounter with Finn and Johanna. She doesn't dare move with that razor traveling higher and higher so she closes her eyes and listens: imagining his hands moving, his moan as she licks her way into his mouth to touch her tongue to his, pressing her small breasts up against him so he can feel her heart racing. She won't do it, of course. That is so far outside what Katniss Everdee—

And then his hand does move to hold taut the tender skin on the inside of her thigh. She hisses quietly, forgetting to think, quivering at how close his thumb is to the shifting elastic of her shorts and underwear. Just an inch, maybe two, and that thumb could be separating her, nuzzling where she can feel another rush of wetness in anticipation. She would give anything for friction. Anything for him to drift—

She's pretty sure that she's going to die of embarrassment when he leans down to get a closer look at what he's doing. He's being so careful, so steady with how he's moving that she hopes he'll miss seeing how flushed she is, or how she's straining against his grip. Maybe their relationship is new enough that he'll think she's just warm in the small space, despite the fact that her nipples are clearly outlined by the thin cotton of her tank top.

He puts the razor down and wipes her thigh. "Ready to switch legs?" He looks at her expectantly. His encouraging smile falters and then disappears as his eyes scan her flushed face, then drop lower to her breasts. They hitch slightly as she draws in a quick breath, captivating him. He raises a wet hand to hover just above her nipple but hesitates as if he is fighting a war within himself.

Finally, he tears his eyes away. Licking his lips, he asks, "Katniss?"

She doesn't even know what he's asking – can't remember anything but how aware of his body she is. She's not sure who makes the first move, either. Maybe she arches into his hand first, or maybe he leans in, but suddenly their lips collide, his hand caught between them. Her hands, which have rested on the counter up until now, are everywhere at once. He answers the kneading of his shoulders and biceps by dragging the shoulder strap of her tank down her arm and caressing every inch of skin he exposes.

She sucks on his tongue. He plucks at her nipple. She bites his lower lip then suckles it. He streaks his hand down her body, grabs her and tugs her toward the edge of the counter until she is flush with his waist. It's not enough, though. She wants more friction. She needs more of him: fingers and lips, and maybe something more.

"Katniss," he whispers against her mouth before licking his way to her ear. "We should stop."

She mewls in cranky displeasure and arches toward him, hoping he'll take the hint and touch her breasts. He does that sometimes and he knows she likes it. She's just never been this undressed, or this…hungry.

He gathers strength by resting his head against hers for a minute before stepping back and laughing ruefully. "I don't want the first time we have sex to be in a hotel room in Las Vegas."

"You want there to be a first time, though, right? For us?" Her voice is husky when she asks.

Peeta rubs the back of his neck with his still-damp hand after he tugs her shirt back into place. "If you're asking me if I want you, of course I do. Take a look." He gestures to his very evident erection.

Katniss's eyes widen at the size of his heavy arousal. Sure, she's felt him against her before, but he's never really called attention to it.

It fascinates her, this proof of her effect on him.

Peeta grabs a towel and wets it with hot water, going back to his original task. Katniss isn't sure how to make him understand that this isn't like the nights when they're together and fumbling around under clothing: today, she wants to see him and be seen by him.

She's afraid that she'll beg if he goes back to touching her without _touching her_. So she lays a hand on his arm, feeling how tense he gets when she does so, and says, "We don't have to…um…have sex, though. Right? We could…we could just…" Her face is in flames and she can't help but look away rather than finish her thought.

Luckily, Peeta's a fast study. She can tell the exact moment he understands. "You want to fool around?"

She nods before slipping the strap off of her shoulder so it hangs over her arm. She was more exposed a few minutes ago, but the fact that she's the one taking this step feels both heady and mortifying. Peeta's hand gently traces her through her shirt, though, and she feels a little more comfortable and a little bolder. She's still on fire for him. She arches into him and he slides her shirt lower, letting the fabric catch on the peak, before rubbing his thumb around her nipple slowly, watching the nub tighten with dark eyes.

"Let's continue, shall we?" He picks up the razor and a shaft of disappointment goes through Katniss at his words, until he takes a bit of extra shaving cream and rubs it against her breast. The friction is delicious and the coolness against her heated skin is different from anything she's ever imagined. He spreads shaving cream on her calf, proving for once and for all that it can also be an erogenous zone. Even the way he holds her leg has her thinking of positions where his strong arms might hold her legs wide.

She's dying. _Dying_. And it's the best sort of death.

She doesn't squeal this time when he drapes a warm towel over her thigh. She does moan, though, when he lightly tongues from her collarbone to the swell of her breast, ending just above where it still tingles from the shaving cream. He blows against the cream, reigniting the cooling sensation and she trembles in reaction. She can't imagine being more turned on than she is just sitting on the counter, legs spread, one breast exposed.

She's wrong. Somehow Peeta turns shaving her thigh into gently rubbing the slippery skin just at the edge of her underwear. Even the way he skims her skin with the warm washcloth raises gooseflesh until she can't help but wrap her arms around him and tangle her tongue with his. Peeta pulls away for a second to turn on the shower, returning to fuse his mouth to hers like he is a starving man in need of sustenance. His hands streak into her hair and down her back to draw her body against his. With little effort, he carries her from the counter to the shower. She has just enough time to rip her mouth from his and gasp his name before they are both drenched by the cold spray as he steps inside.

Katniss gulps back a yelp when the water hits her heated skin. She leans back against the wall, trying to get away from the chill and thinks for a second that maybe this is Peeta's way of cooling the intensity between them. The fleeting thought evaporates as she realizes that her angle has her rubbing directly against his hard-on, which is evident despite the water sluicing over them and soaking through their clothes. She tightens the grip her legs have around his hips and writhes in an attempt to gain some friction.

Peeta must be frustrated despite his monumental control so far because his free hand reaches up and tugs the other strap of her tank top downward to free her other breast to the gentle savagery of his mouth. Her hands move from his shoulders to his hair as she arches into his tongue and teeth. She's glad for the cool water now, glad that there's something to help her hang on to the little sense she has left.

She's not sure if it's an accident caused by her wriggling, or a clothing malfunction when Peeta's fingers somehow get underneath the elastic of her underwear. They freeze with her arched against him: his mouth gasping an "o" of surprise around her warm, wet nipple; hearts stampeding madly; the fingers of his right hand nestled between a heated wetness that is obviously not from the shower. He feels so amazing, so strong and the very thought that he might stop makes her crazy. They may as well be the only two people on Earth, hidden in this cave-of-a-place where time seems to have stopped. So she does the only thing she can think of to make sure he stays with her - she shifts her leg on his hip and lets gravity burrow his fingers further inside.

She feels the puff of air around her nipple that signals his awareness of her movement. She tugs on his short hair to bring him closer and that's all the invitation he needs to back her against the tile wall and lick his way from her breast to her neck. His fingers, those talented nimble fingers that so carefully shaved her, drive into her further. She's wet and more than ready for him to take her harder, despite the slightly uncomfortable stretching and her hips tell him in ways she could never say aloud.

-o-

Peeta can't believe that Katniss is wrapped around him, quivering and moaning. She's tight and wet and warm and tastes like heaven and he's a little worried that she'll think he's disrespecting her since they've never done anything like this together. He's not sure what's made him so bold, but he doesn't care - it's as if their fight was a lifetime ago. When she arches against him, panting his name as he thrusts a finger into her, his entire world is reduced to the four walls of the shower and Katniss Everdeen in his arms.

He wants a better angle. Gently, he urges her to sit on the deep ledge built into the walls of the shower so he can nudge her shorts and underwear down her legs. The tiles cut into his knees and the water beats down around them but he ignores both to tug her closer to the edge and his waiting hands.

And mouth.

Because if there's one thing that Peeta Mellark knows about this morning of fantasies-he-didn't-know-he-had, it's that he wants his mouth on her. She stiffens for second when his smooth cheek nuzzles her equally smooth thigh, but her hands go back to his head when his fingers cleave her apart and he licks a long, exploratory path from his fingers upward. He figures he's found the jackpot when her nails cut into his scalp a little, so he concentrates on lapping short little passes over that spot and rocking his palm slowly. Her fingers tighten so that he can feel little half-moon indents on his neck when he picks up speed and adds sucking to the mix.

He loves the little panting noises she's making, although he's sure she would be embarrassed by them. The thought makes him smile a little, and she mewls in frustration when he loses his pace because of it. He loves that impatience – such a Katniss trait - even more. He apologizes silently by cupping her breast with the hand that had been supporting her back.

His knees hurt. He's shivering a little from the cold water running down his back. He pushes all of that – and his own raging need for release – out of his mind. He wishes that he had read the book his brother had sent, or maybe paid more attention to Finn when he talked about oral sex, because he really wants to make this good for her. Instead, he concentrates on whatever seems to make her quiver.

He moves slightly to the side. Frustrated with the angle, though, he tugs her all the way to the edge and lifts her leg onto his thigh. He groans at how open she is from this angle. She looks so wet, glistening all over from the water raining down around them that he knows he'll jerk off to this mental image for the foreseeable future. His control slips at the thought of burying himself in her and he has to stop and take a steadying breath. Another mewl comes from above him, followed by a wiggle of her leg up to his shoulder in protest.

If she was wide open before, he doesn't know what she is now. He can't help but slide another finger alongside the first just because he _can_. The sound that she makes can't really be called a moan, it's too long for that, and it lasts as long as it takes him to twist his wrist and slip both digits inside her. She's taut in a different way from this angle and all he wants to do is watch her let go while he imagines that she's riding him instead of just his hand.

He's licking her like an ice cream cone, cleaving her with his fingers in a steady rhythm, when she cries his name and her hips take on a life of their own. He hangs on in amazement as she flutters and clamps around his fingers. Even the sharpness of her fingernails scraping at his neck heightens his own intense pleasure in the moment. As long as he lives, he knows that he'll remember the flush of her skin, the smell of the soap that fills the air and the sound of water against tile.

He hobbles to his feet to turn the tap to a warmer temperature. "Can you stand?" He asks Katniss, who is slumped against the wall. She blushes and won't meet his eyes, her eyes drawn, mesmerized, instead to the obvious bulge in his shorts.

"Katniss…" He hisses when she reaches out to touch him through the sodden cotton. He's so beyond turned on that he wants to turn away. The prickles in his legs as the nerve endings recover feeling tell him it's not a good idea to move too quickly, though.

Her silver eyes shut him up when they glance up at his face, then down at his erection. Her hand tightens and her grip is so welcome after however long he's ignored himself, that he can't help his hips from lurching forward to increase the friction. He's got to get a hold on himself or he's going to –

When Katniss reaches out with a second hand and rubs both against him in tandem, he's utterly lost.

-o—

"Long night?" Brue asks Peeta when he slides into the plane seat next to him.

Gale can't help but chime in, "Yeah, Peet. Looks like you got in a fight with a pack of rats. What are those red marks on the back of your neck?"

Peeta 's quiet, not sure what he can say to communicate how deeply he's still reeling from the effects of showering with Katniss. He can't help but look at where she's sitting, covering her mouth in laughter at something said by a pissed-off Johanna. She must be able to feel his eyes on her because she looks up and freezes, then gives him a teeny wave, blushing slightly before smoothing hair away from her forehead. Her smile makes him want to kiss her before doing everything they did this morning at least once more and he's just not sure he's ready for that.

"Peeta's at a loss for words for once, so it must have been some night." Brue clicks his seatbelt in place and leans back.

Gale snorts as he, too, settles into his seat. "I bet. What about you? How was your night with Ms. Mason?"

Brue shrugs. "Good. We went to a club, danced, then hit the sack."

"And? That's it?" When Brue doesn't answer, Gale shakes his head. "You should stop friend-zoning her. I'm just sayin' that she's interesting and you seem to have fun with her. What's the problem in giving it a shot?"

Peeta looks from Brue to Gale. "Gale, leave him alone. If he's not into her, he's not into her—"

"That's just it. I think Brue here _is_ into her." Gale turns to face Brue. "I see how you watch her sometimes. And you damn well laugh more with her than any other girl I've seen you around. I could see maybe waiting for the off-season in case you pull a muscle, but you haven't moved an inch. How come? Just tell us what the deal is and we'll back off."

Brue closes his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts before saying carefully, "I'm not sure I would survive it."

Gale laughs lightly. "It's not that bad, although you may want to stretch first, and maybe have some Gatorade handy."

Peeta leans in and really looks at Brue. "I don't think you're talking about sex, are you?" Peeta thinks he gets it, especially after this morning. He's not sure what happened while he and Katniss were in the shower, but he's had a trembling in his stomach all day since then. It feels like the world is tilting on its axis, or like he's changing in some profound way and he's powerless to stop it. Maybe he's projecting, but he thinks maybe Brue knows exactly what that it feels like to have one's very existence shift because of someone.

Brue shakes his head.

Gale looks from one blue-eyed friend to the other, finally landing on Brue. "I don't get it. But, I guess I'll say this and then leave you alone. What happens if she disappears and you never see her again? We're done with the school year in a couple of months and then who knows what happens? Finn and Annie are already on their own next year. The future's coming, whether we like it or not. Is whatever holds you back worth never knowing if you had a chance together? Think about it."

Peeta snorts. "Yeah. Could you live without _that?_ "

He points to where Johanna sits next to Katniss. She looks pissed-off at the world, wildly gesticulating in a way that has Katniss smirking and the gentleman on her other side smirking. He smiles widely before turning back to his dark-haired friend to make a joke, but he forgets what he was going to say at the strange expression on his friend's face.

Brue frowns intensely at the two girls as if trying to solve a puzzle before he shakes his dark head. Slumping back in his seat, he grabs a magazine from the seat back pocket and flips through it.

It's not lost on Peeta that he never answers the question.


	29. Flowers Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bailey.

I carefully balance the box I'm holding along with our mail as I make my way back up to our room. Today is Katniss's birthday and I'm thrilled that she's received a couple of cards– at least one from Prim, and another from Haymitch, the guy she talks about every once in a while. I'm thrilled because it takes some of the pressure off me to make this birthday fun and exciting even though we're heading back to her hometown in a week.

Like I need _that_ pressure on top of fucking finals.

Plus, I know Peeta is going all-out with some crazy dinner for all of us and I need to compete with that like I need a freaking hole in my head. He's probably going to finish it off with a pastry homage to his undying love for her. Why he's not taking her upstairs for a private party, a la Lady Gaga, I don't know. Frankly, I've stopped wondering why these two kids aren't spending every second jackhammering each other on any available flat surface.

I drop everything on the desk and flop into my polka dot beanbag chair while I wait for Katniss to wake the hell up. Kicking off my sneaks – which promptly reminds me to put some baby powder in the bottom of them – I rip open the latest letter from Angus MacLeod.

Yeah. Brue's grandpa and I are pen pals. So? He's sharing his life's wisdom in a way that's at least as helpful as my sessions with Dr. Aurelius. I'm not sure what he gets out of this deal, but it works for me so I don't question it.

_Dear Johanna,_

_Lass, I hope you are well. I hear finals are coming soon. Although I'm sure that concerns you, I am confident you'll have a strong finish._

_About your friend and his marriage – I'm sure that Elizabeth will say that "a baby is a blessing". That's true but not in the way she thinks. A baby makes a man, Johanna, and your friend will become the man he was meant to be. Nothing changes a man like knowing they must provide for someone else in the world. I suspect you're aware of how powerful the need to take care of someone is, or you wouldn't have the concerns you do. You can't control what happens to him any more than you can control his reactions. Not every choice of his will be your choice. Family is like that and all we can do is be there to celebrate the successes and help them through any failures. That's the best we can do, lass, for the ones we love – walk alongside them._

_Try not to stress about the future for it will be here soon enough._

_Hold fast,_

_Angus MacLeod_

I stop and stare out the window for a minute. On the one hand, that sounds a lot like a bunch of bullshit. On the other hand, it's pretty much what Dr. A. and I have been working on, so I decide to go with it. Besides, Finn and Annie seem to be able to take care of each other just fine and the weeks since Vegas have passed by almost exactly the same as the weeks before it. We study; we have dinner at the frat house; we party there. Oh, Annie doesn't join us for that last one and Finn's cutting back as well, but if it weren't for the baby bump she's sporting, I would completely forget she's pregnant.

I hear rustling behind me and glance to confirm that Katniss is waking up. She's such an angel this early in the morning – not. Sure enough, she's wiping drool off her chin and drowsily squinting at where I sit.

"Jo?" She sounds like a frog who mated with a feral cat.

"Wake up, Brainless! I brought you breakfast." I walk toward her, gingerly cradling the pastry box that holds her special birthday doughnut.

She sits up. "What is that?"

"Take a look." I plop it down on the edge of her bed then go get forks while she takes in the deep fried glory.

"Jo…this is…this is…" Katniss can neither speak nor take her eyes off of it. I take both as a good sign.

"Everdeen, any day now you can stop being so pure. It's a Cock 'N Balls doughnut," I say matter-of-factly. "Since I know Peeta's not gonna slip you a cream-filled treat today…Dig in." I hand her a fork.

I wait for her to gingerly poke the beast in the box before snagging a bite of one of the balls myself. I'm not disappointed: the cream is cool, but the doughnut and chocolate glaze are still slightly warm. I doubt even Peeta could do better.

She takes a tentative first bite. I know I've got her hooked when she immediately goes back for more. "How did you get this made? I'm guessing you didn't go to Peeta."

"No way did I go to your forever-frustrated boyfriend and ask him to make a cream-filled cock for your birthday. Even I'm not that cruel. I went to the guy I know works the opening shift at Commons. He was amenable once I offered him a blowjob."

Katniss's mouth hangs open, her fork paused in transit and a small glob of pastry cream drips onto her Sesame Street pajamas. "You blew someone to have this made?"

"No. I _offered to blow_ someone. Vast difference. Poor guy, it looked like I made his year. Not only did he get right on the fryer, but he used the one with the freshest oil too. And I think he gave me the friends and family discount." I punctuate the statement with a long lick up the edge of my fork while Katniss laughs.

At the sound of a knock on the door, I urge her to keep eating.

"Is the birthday girl awake?" Madge motions behind me with shell-pink nails that perfectly match her lip gloss. I know I should be used to Madge looking photo-ready no matter the time of day or night. Before I invite her in, I idly wonder if she looks that perfect when she's riding Gale with a ten inch strap-on.

"Come help Katniss eat some cock for breakfast. God knows she can't finish it all." I scrounge an extra fork when Madge raises an eyebrow and joins us on Katniss's bed. When she takes a bite and gives a little nod of approval, I raise my _Go Girl!_ energy drink in salute.

Hey, it takes a lot of effort to eat that much deep fried cock.

"To Katniss!" I cheer. "May this be her year for all sorts of cocks."

"Gee, uh, thanks Jo." Katniss blushes the color of the Elmo on her pajama top.

"You're welcome. Oh, you have some mail."

I hand her the envelopes that came for her and she eagerly rips them open. Prim's includes a card with a recording of her singing Happy Birthday inside, as well as a picture of her and some kid named Rory all dressed up. Just the sight of her sister lights up Katniss's face so brightly I have to turn away. Today may be her birthday, but I still have trouble witnessing how happy her sister makes her. I may get over it someday. Today is not that day.

I figure it's safe to turn back to her when I hear the other envelope ripping. It's most definitely a card accompanied by what looks to be a check. Where most kids are happy to get money of some sort, Everdeen's frowning like someone just told her to do her homework with a Sharpie.

Her frown clears when Madge asks quietly, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just…Haymitch." Katniss blows out a slow breath. "He knows I can't repay him and he's done so much for me already-"

"It's your birthday, Katniss. If he sent it to you as a gift, maybe you should just take it."

A long look that I can't interpret passes between Katniss and Madge, which would normally piss me off as badly as if I caught the two of them talking about me behind my back. Today, though, I let it go. It feels good. Like I'm becoming a better person.

Holy shit! Maybe all that time with Dr. Aurelius is working!

Madge's phone rings before either she or Katniss can explain whatever the Haymitch look was for. Her greeting has me snorting energy drink up my nose. And let me tell you how much _that_ stings like a motherfucker.

"Hi, Kitten. Did you find out from Peeta what time dinner is tonight?" She pauses while _Kitten_ \- so help me God, if that's Gale, I'm going to tease him forever – explains whatever it is he or she has to say. "Okay. We'll see you later. No, I haven't forgotten our other plans. Someone is very excited, isn't he? Save it for tonight, pet."

By the time she hangs up, I'm rolling around on my bed, trying not to guffaw. "Was that Gale? Please, please tell me that was Gale."

Madge leans over and hugs Katniss, ignoring my chortles. "Happy Birthday. I'll see you at the frat house at 6." She shoots me a glance on her way out the door. "Johanna, do not ruin my night by messing with him."

I look her dead in the eye and meow loudly before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

I'm wiping my eyes and giggling through aftershocks long after she's gone, so I almost miss Katniss's statement, "You're in a great mood."

"Did you hear that? She called Gale _Kitten_." I let out another snicker.

Katniss gives a little smile. "I heard. But you've been in a great mood for a couple of weeks now –even through finals – you've been different. What's up?"

I shrug. "Nothing, really. Oh! Except I have a new porn crush on Tyler Nixon." I smile because that has really perked me up lately.

As usual, Everdeen is completely clueless. "Who?"

I swear it's like she was time warped here from another reality. One where they barely have electricity. "Tyler Nixon. He looks just like the guy from _Journey to the Center of the Earth_? The cute one? With the dark hair and the amazing ass?" I shake my head at her continued look of complete confusion. "Never mind. I'm just in a good place right now, I guess: I'm excited to meet Prim and spend the summer with you in Fairfield; I'm stoked that the school year is over; I'm learning I don't need to control everything; and I'm just really grateful for all of the friends I've made this year."

"Jo, was there an alien pod next to your bed this morning?"

Katniss's delivery is so straight that I almost miss that it's a joke and a movie reference as well. When it finally sinks in, I gape at her and she grins back.

"Are you complaining about my good mood?" I draw my brows together in the best impression I've got of her. "Because I did get you the biggest dick you've seen all year, barring that cucumber Peeta used in lieu of his Sasquatch penis. And, might I remind you, you haven't even thanked me for it. Or thanked me for not singing _Happy Birthday_."

"His what? And I am eternally grateful you did not sing. Really."

"His Sasquatch penis. Because you still haven't confirmed its existence. Sasquatch? Get it?"

Another blank look answers my question: despite her brief moment of brilliance, my roommate is totally hopeless.

-o—

Peeta's dinner is fucking amazing. I know I say that every time we eat a meal of his, but it's like he has some sort of culinary voodoo. Tonight is no exception, and the breaded chicken breasts in habanero cream sauce are sublime: the combination of spicy, smooth, and sweet is the perfect complement for the slightly bitter taste of the asparagus and the tang of the cilantro-rice. If fruit and chicken and had an orgy, this is what it would taste like. Peeta even makes the presentation lovely. Cloth napkins adorn the table instead of the big-box store paper ones we normally use, and three small vases of daisies grace the table. I know the second Katniss gets overwhelmed and starts to feel guilty that he's gone to all of this trouble because her eyes dart around the room like she wants nothing more than to go hide in a closet.

I figure it's time to provide a distraction. "So, what can I expect in Fairfield? I have to admit that I can't wait to see how the East Coast lives."

"You're going back East this summer?" Brue asks as he helps Peeta dish. It's probably the most civil thing he's said to me lately that doesn't involve running or music.

I nod. "Yeah. Everdeen was nice enough to invite me. It's going to be quite an adventure."

"Fairfield will never know what hit it." Gale laughs. He pours drinks for everyone and adds, "It's not that different from here, except the food is better."

I snort. "I find that hard to believe."

Finn jumps in. "The pizza is amazing. The bagels too. And there're doughnuts, like, everywhere. Dad and I ate our way from one side of New York City to the other. If you didn't gain the freshman ten here, you will this summer."

The importance of doughnuts in my life has never been debated, but I shoot Finn a look like he's being disloyal. "I bet we have better Mexican."

"True. But we have real Greek diners, not just Daphne's." Peeta takes his place at the table and we all consider our dinners, chicken and asparagus lying there glistening like they're in a post money-shot euphoria, soaked in orgasmic-sauce. Yeah. I can see where a chain store wouldn't be something Peeta considers to be real food.

"I wouldn't worry about the food, Jo. Worry about the bugs. Katniss, did you tell her about the mosquitos?" Madge wags a finger at her when Katniss shakes her head. "They're the size of airplanes."

Brue chuckles lightly. "Well, the bugs better beware of Johanna: she bites back."

When he winks at me, I glare at him before turning back to Finn. "What are you and Annie doing for the summer?"

Finn shrugs, a light blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "I'm gonna try to keep up lifeguarding. They haven't confirmed yet whether they need me, though."

"I'm going to take some classes and try to get ahead of things." A frown crosses Annie's face for a second but then clears when Finn reaches over and squeezes the hand she's resting on her small belly.

"I'll be in L.A. the whole summer, if you guys want to get together, or need anything…" Brue looks from Finn to Annie and back. I'm struck by how _available_ he seems tonight. Normally he stays more on the periphery, quiet conversations seem more his thing. I idly wonder if there was a pod next to _his_ bed or something, because his megawatt smile gives Peeta's grin a run for its money.

I ignore the butterflies that flutter in my stomach. Even when – especially when – Brue asks if I'll help him do the dishes despite Peeta's protests that he'll clean up later. I'm not sure what Brue's ulterior motive is, but I find myself saying yes, butterflies-be-damned. I actually have to clamp my thighs together from the grin he gives me.

It pisses me off. It's been so long since we've had a cease fire after our disaster trip to Vegas that I've almost forgotten how attractive he is. And to suddenly remember on tonight of all nights? Not cool.

"What the fuck is up with you tonight?" I ask quietly when I am up to my elbows in soapy water. When he shrugs, I glare at him. "Seriously. You're all friendly and outgoing. Are you on meds?"

He stands really close to me. Close enough that I can smell his tangy deodorant or aftershave, see the purple from his Polo shirt reflected in the deep blue of his eyes, and really notice the cords of muscle in his neck when he laughs at my statement. Close enough that I want to punch his arm to make him give me some space, or sink my teeth into his shoulder. You know. Like a warning bite.

"Maybe this is just my normal, sparkling personality."

"You wouldn't fucking sparkle if you were a vampire in Twilight." I snort.

He laughs. "I've always preferred werewolves anyway. At least they get to howl at the moon and eschew all the vampire politics. Speaking of which…are you staying on campus next year?"

It's pretty common at 'SC to live off campus. Most of the kids who go here don't want to live all four years in South Central Los Angeles. I don't mind it, though, and Katniss and I plan on rooming together again in the fall.

"Yeah. Katniss and I are staying in Trojan Hall. Madge too, I think. Are you staying in the frat house? Or moving in with some of your teammates?" My stomach clenches a little at the thought of never seeing Brue again. 'SC may only be two-point-two miles in circumference, but we don't even share a major and have never bumped into each other outside of the frat.

"I'm sticking around here. I can't possibly move away from Peeta's dinners, can I?" He bumps my shoulder, which splashes water across my white t-shirt, making it transparent and exposing the lace of my bra. Fucking bastard doesn't even have the grace to say he's sorry, but just grins and adds, "I hope your don't go soft over the summer: I'd hate for our runs to stop next year."

I flick more than a few water droplets in his direction. "Like _that's_ gonna happen. The only one of us who's going to go soft is you, L.A. Boy."

He bumps me with his hip so he can "accidentally" scoop water at me. "L.A. Boy? That's the best you've got?"

I bump him back, drop the sponge and splash two handfuls of water at him as my answer. He drops the dishtowel and all four of our hands are in the sink and water is flying as he laughs and I shriek indignantly.

"Children!" Peeta yells after snapping the discarded towel close enough to my butt that I jump back. He takes the opportunity to smoothly pluck the stopper from the sink. "Can we please continue with Katniss's party?"

We both hang our heads bashfully and mumble apologies. When Peeta announces that we're going to open gifts before cake, I sneak a glance at Brue to find him grinning at me while he dabs at his soaked shirt with a napkin. I'm so wet that I don't even bother trying to dry off. I know nothing short of a change of clothes is going to help. I glare at him and turn away, but not before I see him wink again in my direction.

_What the fuck?_

Meanwhile, Katniss stares at the small pile of gifts in much the same way she looked at the Christmas gift from my mom: her expression is something between bemused and ill. Annie slides the first one toward her and urges her to open it. It's a beautiful, leather- bound journal with a stylized bird design embossed on the cover. Leave it to Annie to notice that Katniss keeps a journal. When Katniss passes me the book, a few pages flutter and I notice writing on one. I flip it open to an inscription that reads, "To Katniss - may this help you take flight. Love, Annie and Finn."

It's a great inscription, considering that I know at least some of the work she's doing with Dr. A. is about _becoming_ something. I think a bird in flight is as great an analogy as any.

Brue gives her some music that she's been coveting; Madge and Gale chipped in and got her a picture of a knife. Gale explains that the actual gift is a hunting knife. Since he knows she'll want to use it at home rather than school, they had the actual knife shipped to Fairfield, hence the pic. Personally, I think a seven inch serrated blade is just the kind of thing you want to keep handy in your backpack, but it's not my gift so I don't get a vote.

I slide my gift to her and she takes it gingerly. I know she's thinking it's a classy assortment of edible underwear or something but she's wrong. I wait patiently for her to tear off the gift wrap and watch as her eyes widen.

Brue speaks slowly, interrupting her reaction, as if he can't believe I know how to buy normal things. "It's a _book_."

"Yeah. So? You were expecting what? A suction cup dildo?" I don't let on that I had considered it the last time I was on the Luv Boutique's website but those fuckers are expensive!

My directness has zero impact on him. "Well, you have seemed pent-up lately –"

I narrow my eyes, despite his words being the understatement of the century. "Are you volunteering to help me out with that now?" I watch as the verbal axe finds purchase and his eyes widen and drop from mine.

 _Direct hit,_ I think, and turn to Katniss with a grin. "I know you're into that dystopian Y.A. stuff, and I saw you take the first one out of the library. It just worked out that the second book in the trilogy released last week, and I know you're into kicking it old school with paper…"

"Jo, thank you! This is amazing." Katniss touches the cover gently. I don't let on that I know she's read the book multiple times, or that I've caught her checking out fanfic for it. I'm secretly sure that if she were ever going to leave Peeta for another guy, it would be the fictional main character. Which is funny because I've read it and Peeta is a lot like him, right down to the blond hair and blue eyes.

Peeta's gift is the only one left and Katniss stares at it the way you look at a huge spider. I can tell that Peeta is trying not to be hurt by her reluctance to open it just by the set of his manly jaw: if he keeps clenching like that, he's going to need a bite guard. Finally she takes the small package, rips it open and stares at the box with an unreadable expression. I'm not sure what's going on until I notice the flush that stains her cheeks, neck, and chest. Katniss doesn't flush like that, ever, unless it's something really amazing. Or she's drunk.

She brushes a hair back from her forehead. "Peeta, this is beautiful. Thank you." She has to clear her throat before she leans over and kisses him. I notice she's still not meeting his eyes and her flush hasn't dissipated, not even when they break apart and she nervously places the box on the table for all of us to take a look.

It's a necklace: a square of glass suspended from a black cord. Painted on the glass, or maybe between it, is a vibrant, pink hibiscus flower with accents of deep orange and center of crimson. Its intricate detail is lovely and painstaking. I can't even imagine the dedication and effort required to produce something like that.

"Peeta, did you paint that?" I ask.

"You should consider opening an Etsy store for stuff like this. You could make a killing," Annie adds. The way she's looking at the necklace, it's like she's considering how many of her hippie friends would want to buy something similar. I bet Peeta could pay for books next semester on her word-of-mouth alone.

Peeta shakes his head. "It's just a hobby."

"I'm just lucky I have a one-of-a-kind." Katniss says in a dulcet tone that makes me want to vomit even as she toys nervously with her braid.

I barely have time to think about what might be up with my roommate when Peeta moves the cake to the center of the table. It's a double layer, modest for him, decorated in creamy white frosting and decorated with what can only be katniss flowers. We do the singing thing and Peeta urges Katniss to make a wish on the three candles that he has ruthlessly shoved through his gorgeous frosting job. He insists they represent "past, present, and future." The cake is dished quickly, especially once the first slice hits a plate and we all realize it's a carrot cake with cream cheese and walnut frosting.

Can I just talk for a second about the cake? Because…well…it's a Peeta cake. And his carrot cake is perfect: no raisins, no pineapple, no nuts, no coconut. From what I can tell, and believe me, I savor every single fucking bite of this carrots-using-cream-cheese-as-lube-with-just-the-right-amount-of-spice. Seriously, my stomach is tingling like it's eating the equivalent of K-Y warming gel. So. Fucking. Good. I think I get a tiny hint of orange in a bite, but then it's gone, hidden behind the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and maybe some cloves or mace that mingle with the toasted walnuts he's ground and mixed into the frosting. I give up trying to deconstruct it after a few bites. Who cares what's in it? It's like my taste buds are after-sex snuggling.

The party breaks up pretty quickly after cake. I assume that Katniss is going to spend her night getting the requisite number of birthday spankings from Peeta, so I hug her and show myself the door with Annie and Finn. By the time I'm back at the dorm, I just want a shower, my jammies, and maybe some Hunter Hayes.

Which is why I almost have a heart attack when I head back after my shower and Katniss is sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, and biting her lip. She looks about thirty seconds away from crying.

"What's going on?" I ask. "I thought you were spending the night with Peeta."

She blows a long breath out. "Is it a problem if I stay here tonight?" She's nervously fingering the pendant Peeta must have put around her neck.

"It's your room, Katniss. Of course you can stay here!" I hop onto my bed and face her. "Wanna tell me what's got you so riled over a gorgeous handmade gift that exactly matches the custom pants you've been wearing the seat out of all semester? Because if the pants didn't freak you out, why would the necklace?"

Katniss turns a shade that can only be called _True Blood._

"Brainless, come on. The only thing you ever get this embarrassed about is sex." She stops fidgeting with the necklace and grabs her braid like it's a piece of rope tossed over a cliff and she's hanging on for dear life. I practice some deduction to try to narrow the possibilities. "Okay, so the pendant has something to do with sex? Peeta put a suggestive love poem in the box? He told you his dick is akin to a hairy stamen? He compared your vulva to a flower, like Georgia O'Keefe, and said he wants to sip your nectar?" She doesn't move a muscle and I start to get frustrated. "Am I even getting close here? Because you do realize that talking something through involves actually _talking_. Right?"

She takes a deep breath and exhales a rush of words so quickly that I can barely process them before she hides her entire tomato-colored face in her hands. "Peeta and I had oral sex in the shower when we were in Las Vegas."

My brain catches up with my ears and I have to clarify what it is I think I just heard. "I'm sorry. I think I just heard you say that you and Peeta had in-room, all-you-can-eat while we were in Las Vegas."

Katniss doesn't remove her hands from her face as she nods.

I shoot my fist in to the air triumphantly and let out a whoop. "So Peeta finally got his tongue in your oven? Did you get to munch the baguette? And you said it was in the shower? So adventurous." I waggle my eyebrows at her, even though she still has her face hidden. I know my tone is a little wistful, but I can't help it: I can't really remember clearly the last time someone made a meal of me and it makes me want to cry. I'm happy for Katniss, though. There's nothing like finding out that your boyfriend likes sushi to make a girl's day.

It's quiet for a minute while I wait for her to give me more information. Why bring it up if you don't want to talk about it? Finally, I can't restrain myself, and I have to ask, "So, how was Peeta at pearl diving?"

"Jo, this isn't funny." Her voice is muffled behind her hands, but her eyes scowl over the top of her fingers.

"Brainless, I'm not laughing. Seriously, how was it?"

A tremor goes through her. I would think it's a bad sign, except that her face when she finally pulls her hands away is as pink as the hibiscus Peeta gave her. I cock an eyebrow and make a mental note to high-five Peeta the next time I see him. I'm pretty sure that Everdeen has nothing to compare it to, but the boy must have some skills if she's trembling from something that happened two months ago.

"So what's the problem? Unless it's that it's been awhile and you want a repeat performance. Is that it?"

Katniss scowls and cocks an eyebrow at me, but the blush doesn't dissipate. "I can't believe we're talking about this."

"Well, is that it? You want him licking you like a lollipop and don't know how to ask? Please don't tell me that we need an intervention on how to ask for oral. Do we? I'm sure I have a tasteful haiku somewhere that will probably help. If that's all, I'd like to get some sleep tonight so that I don't tank the rest of my finals, and I'm sure you would too."

"No!" she yelps and drops her eyes from mine. There's a pause before she mumbles, "Well, maybe. But that's not the problem. When we were… when he…he saw something…."

If I thought Everdeen was red before, she's absolutely on fire now. Watching her stammer is almost painful. I force myself to think about what she might actually be trying to tell me.

"Peeta saw something? Something that has to do with the gift he gave you?" I tap my finger against my lips. What could Everdeen possibly have to hide from Peeta? Something she doesn't want him to see…

_Oh. My. God. The freaking tattoo._

"You have a flower on your flower?" I blurt it out because it's the only answer. I don't even wait for her mortified nod of confirmation before my bark of laughter rings out. "That's awesome! I bet he freaked out! Did he? Did he love it?"

Katniss's head is back in her hands. "I don't know if he freaked out! I wasn't really watching! It's just that he wasn't talking to me when I got it done, and I put it below my underwear line so no one would ever see it, and I never thought he would be…you know…"

"Face to face with it?" She nods. "Maybe he missed it?" That gets her to look at me, her expression clearly telling me that there's a better chance of me having sex with Chris Pine than Peeta missing her product placement. I try to soothe her. "Look, there's a million of us college kids who subscribe to the motto ' _It seemed like a good idea at the time.'_ Think of it this way, it's like you wrote him a love letter on your vag and now he's writing one back. It's romantic."

Katniss looks skeptical. "You think?"

"I'm sure. It's like he's telling you that you're beautiful and he can't stop thinking about you. It's hot."

She's back to playing with her hair and looks worried. "If that's the case, why haven't we…you know."

That's when it dawns on me that Katniss didn't come home because she is avoiding sex with Peeta. No. She _wants_ sex with him. She came home because they haven't done anything since Vegas and she's worried that he doesn't want her. Which makes me want to punch Peeta, right after I high-five him.

"Look. There's all sorts of reasons guys hold back on sex." I don't tell her that I can't think of a single one, but I'm sure Peeta has some sort of strange biological makeup that makes him able to channel sperm backup into energy for baking. I mean, he's lusted after her for so long that he might even be able to have tantric orgasms. Who knows? "We're going to be back on home turf soon. Maybe the two of you will be more comfortable there? All I can say is that there is no way that Peeta made that gift for you if he didn't want you. You should talk to him about it."

Katniss looks like I just asked her to swallow a frog whole. "I'm not good at talking."

"Then put on some of that lingerie that Madge made us buy and see what he does with that." She doesn't look any happier with that answer. "Look, you either talk about it, or you do something about it. Otherwise you're just wasting my time and yours having this conversation. Right?"

"You're right." She blows a breath out. "You're right! Thanks, Jo."

I slide under the covers. "No problem. Oh, and Katniss, when you're ready to suck the filling out of his calzone, let me know. I've got a couple of educational videos for you."

I hear her gulp louder than the click of the door when she leaves to use the bathroom and cackle to myself. _You're welcome, Peeta._

Fucking with Everdeen is so much fun.

-o—

Finals wind down. Everdeen and I start packing what we're taking back to Fairfield and what my parents are going to store for us. I run. I see Dr. Aurelius and he adds a behavioral aspect to my therapy: in addition to the journal and food log, he wants me to wear a rubber band. Any time I feel like I want to avoid food, or am trying to be perfect and overthinking things, I'm to snap it lightly against my wrist as a way to bring myself out of that mindset.

It's a little like a nipple twist, or a wet willy, I guess, or when someone tries to scare you when you have the hiccups.

He wants me to come up with a mantra to say as I snap it. So far, what I've come up with is repeating, _Fucking get over it, Mason._ He's less than thrilled with that. I tell him I'll work on it, though, and he lets it slide.

I'm pounding the pavement, trying to drift and not overthink anything given the hundreds of things still on my to-do list before we blow this taco stand in a little less than a week. Speaking of which, I add _eat as much Mexican as possible_ to it, mentally writing it adjacent to an accompanying checkbox.

Obviously I'm having a hard time letting go of my planning and just living in the moment. That's a shock, I'm sure, but it also means that the inside of my wrist is raw from the snap of rubber.

Just as I'm getting ready to snap my wrist again – hey, I can multi-task – my music cuts out and my arm vibrates with incoming phone call. Now I'm pissed: it's got to be a wrong number because no one my age uses their cell phones for actual phone calls and I was right in the middle of a great song. It's confirmed that I'm right when there's no answering vibration that signals voicemail. I mentally flip off whoever would dare interrupt my sacred running time.

-o-

I've showered and am picking out what to wear tonight to the frat house. There's a huge blowout now that finals are over and I'm thinking I might finally get to stage a pop quiz of my own on some unsuspecting guy. I go for some tunes to help with the vibe, thinking maybe some Britney Spears _My Prerogative_ will help things along. That's when I notice six more missed calls from Finn.

Finn never calls, not even when he's having a fashion crisis. Not even when Jen Hughes dumped him in high school. As a matter of fact, the only time I can recall Finn calling me on the phone were the days following Carys's funeral.

A shiver overtakes me and I hastily text him. _Missed your calls while I was running. Everything okay?_

I hit send and I swear, two seconds later the phone vibrates and I pick it up. "Finn?"

His voice is strange, like he's afraid he'll fly apart if he talks too loudly. "Jo, I need you."

"Finn, where are you? Tell me what's going on." I start tossing on whatever clothing I can reach.

"Cedars-Sinai," his voice breaks. "Please come."

-o—

I bum a ride with Brue and we're at the hospital as fast as is humanly possible.

"Finn, how is she?"

"Jo, thank God you're here. They're monitoring her." Finn's exhausted, like he's done nothing but cry for the last few hours.

"What happened?" Brue asks quietly.

"She started bleeding and cramping. We didn't know what else to do, so we came in to get checked. They did an ultrasound and started to monitor her…her contractions." Finn almost breaks down and has to take a deep breath. "They've got them stopped for now."

"So the baby is okay?" I ask. At Finn's hesitant nod, I hug him and rub his back. "Are they letting her have visitors?"

"Yeah. I only came out of the room for a minute to catch my breath," Finn says.

I know what he means is that he doesn't want to break down in front of her, so I squeeze the hand I haven't let go of yet. He looks like he could use a few more minutes to pull himself together, so I offer, "I'd like to see her."

He gives me a wan smile. I'm almost to the door of her room when Finn stops me. "Jo? Don't upset her, okay?"

I hate the pleading in his voice, or the fact that he thinks I need that sort of warning.

Annie is hooked up to a couple of IV's in a pink room that tries, but fails, to be cheery. A bright bunch of roses – probably from Finn – tries to mask the smell of antiseptic. She's got a belt around the small mound of her belly, and I see a read-out on a screen – that must be the monitoring that Finn mentioned. She's pale and small; a waif in her hospital gown, hair splitting the sheets like a dark slash.

"Annie?" I whisper her name, even though it's a private room and there's no one else to hear.

Clouded green eyes meet mine, huge in her pale face. "Jo?"

I sit at her side. I'm not sure what she sees on my face, but hers scrunches up into a sob.

"I'm so glad you're here for him," she says, crying without tears.

"Annie, shush. You have to stop." It's not lost on me that she thinks I'm only here for Finn. I imagine that she'd rather have Madge by her side. Really, even Everdeen is probably better at this than I am, but I'm the one who's here.

"I don't have any tears left. Did you know you could cry yourself out?" She sounds at once horrified and fascinated.

I did, indeed, know that. "You need to calm down." As an afterthought I add, "For the baby."

That seems to quiet her. Her eyes close and her breathing evens out although she seems to take a deeper breath every once in a while. It's a dead giveaway that she's barely holding on.

A little while later, she says quietly, "We just found out it's a boy. Did Finn tell you?"

I'm surprised at how that makes the baby so much more real: Finn's going to have a son. "No. But he did say that the baby's okay."

She nods. "So far." She turns to me with luminous, almost feverishly intense eyes. She's not crying, not anymore, but this is worse. This is how eyes look when they're haunted. I know because mine had the same shadows right after Carys died. "Do you think this is my fault? Do you think he knew I didn't really want him in the beginning? That we talked about…about not having him? Do you think I started loving him too late?"

My heart clenches and my eyes fill with tears.

I snap the rubber band and it startles me out of the downward spiral this could take. I have to reassure her. "No. No. Annie, this isn't your fault! I'm sure the baby knows he's loved. He's your son, Annie! You're both strong. You're going to get through this and you're going to have a family."

I take her hand, lying limp and cool on the sheets and chafe a little warmth into it. Her hand suddenly grasps mine in a surprisingly strong grip. "You won't tell Finn, will you? That I…that I said that? That I told you we had talked about…."

I squeeze her hand in reassurance. "No. That will be our secret."

She closes her eyes again but doesn't let go of my hand. A single tear leaves a trail down her cheek. Her voice is low, empty, like cold wind through naked trees, chilling. Full of shame. "Jo, I feel like I'm drowning."

My heart freezes and I imagine taking great gulps of air just to stay afloat. I picture Carys, lifeless, with water around her. I don't know how I find my voice but I lean forward and grip her hand so hard I'm sure my nails will leave marks on her skin. "Annie, listen to me. You're…you're the strongest swimmer I know."

-o-

I lean my head against the leather headrest and close my eyes. The only thing audible in the car interior besides Shinedown is the snapping of the rubber band against my wrist.

"Will you please change this?" I practically bite Brue's head off because I can't handle hearing _Second Chance_ right now.

"Only if you stop dinging yourself with that elastic," he bites back, but changes it to something orchestral that sounds a lot like the _Star Trek: Into Darkness_ score. Does this guy not have any happy music? Maybe some Michael Franti? I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, slowly, and count to ten. It's not Brue's fault that tonight has been seriously fucked. He's just an easy target. No, it's not his fault that he's one of only a handful of people I know who has a car. He's been amazing tonight: picking me up when I called frantically looking for a ride, coming without question, even when I said the name of the hospital that Finn had given me, even fading into the background at the hospital.

I feel the horror of her Annie's empty eyes threaten to overtake me and I swear I'm going to be sick. "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull the fuck over!" I scream it as I scramble for the seatbelt latch. Seconds later, I'm out of the car and walking furiously away from the street as fast as my running shoes will carry me. I have to take a handful of deep breaths and finally end up bent over, focusing on my shoelaces. With a sudden burst of clarity, I'm thankful that Brue took Wilshire Boulevard and not the 10 Freeway, or I might be fighting the dry heaves on the shoulder.

I'm taking deep, shuddering breaths, counting to ten with each one, when I hear his light tread running toward me. I don't want him seeing me lose control like this and am so thankful for the minute it's taken him to park properly and lock up the car. That's Brue for you: he's nothing if not thorough.

"Are you nuts?" He's on me and almost yelling, which isn't like him at all. I had expected something solicitous, perhaps a sweatshirt around my shoulders. "You don't just run from a car like that. Good thing we're still in a good part of L.A."

I snort at that: like there's a _good_ part of L.A.

"You think I'm kidding? You're wearing a tank top and a miniskirt. Based on the view I caught when you bent over, I'm not sure if you're even wearing underwear. And you bolt from the car like you have zero thought to your personal safety? You don't even grab your bag, so you don't have a cell phone. Jesus, Jo! Anything could happen to you. You're…You're a walking time bomb, you know that?"

"Really? _Well fuck you too!"_ I match his anger with my own. "Give me my bag and I'll find my own way home. I've got this." I straighten my shoulders, grateful for the respite from the empty pit of despair that sent me into the balmy May night. I glare at him and wish I had lasers for eyes.

He stares me down. "You are impossible," he grinds out. "Get back in the car."

"No."

He runs his hands through his hair, then fists them at his side. I swear I can hear his teeth clenching from here and I freaking love it. "Get. In. The. Car. Please."

Awwww. He used the Magic Word! As if that's going to get me to do what he wants? I'm tired of being pushed around. "Stop telling me what to do."

He narrows his eyes and points at me. "You are being a spoiled, selfish brat. Do you think you're the only person who's hurting tonight?"

I don't let him continue. I can't. I am so pissed off that I think I could run back to campus, even in a miniskirt. My breath comes in gasps so that I have to force out, "Don't you _dare_ tell me what I feel. You have no idea what's going through my head, so don't you are presume to think you do."

I see him unwind a little. His fists unclench and he takes a visible breath then exhales. "Jo, I know this is hard. I can't imagine what it's like for Finn to call you and tell you he needs you, to watch him going through this. But you don't have to have all the answers."

I'm shaking _,_ angry at his asinine assumptions. _God, shut up, Brue,_ I yell at him in my head. When he opens his mouth again, probably ready to spout out more crap that's totally wrong, I do the only thing I can think of to shut him up. I grab his shirt and lean up to capture his lips before they can yammer something else that makes me want to slap him.

He tastes like peppermint, probably the Altoids that he shared with us at the hospital to mask the coffee that he and Finn had brought back from the gift shop along with a deck of cards and a stuffed bear. I want to deepen the kiss and see if he tastes like a peppermint latte, or if the coffee left his tongue tasting bitter. His lips are softer than I've imagined. I want to bite down on his fuller lower lip, suck it into my mouth until he moans. Until I feel his hands on my bare skin. Until his lips soften under mine. Until he wants me.

It's like a bucket of cold water over my head when I remember that he _doesn't_ want me and I force myself to pull away.

Brue, to his credit, just stands there and stares at me after I pull away as quickly as I grabbed him. Finally, I drop my eyes to the ground and mumble, "Just give me another minute."

It actually takes the whole minute of deep breathing and elastic snapping to get me back into the car. I know I should apologize for bolting and for the kiss, but I can't seem to get my tongue unstuck from the roof of my mouth. I clear my throat as he starts the engine and he waits patiently while I fumble with the hem of my tank top and stare at the streetlight several hundred yards from the car. "I'm sorry for running off like that. I just…Annie's eyes. They were so _scared_. I needed some time." I leave out that the darkness in her eyes terrified me more than the sad exhaustion in Finn's.

I sneak a glance at him, but the dim light in the car isn't enough for me to read him. "And I'm…I shouldn't have kissed you. I guess I just wanted to take everything out on your tonight. You were a target and that was a cheap shot. You didn't have to come tonight. I know that. So…thanks."

His hand taps the steering wheel, long fingers drawing my eyes. _He has the hands of a musician_.

His whole body stills and he turns to face me with a sigh, shutting off the car so he can angle his long legs. "I'm sorry too. You're right: I never should have tried to tell you what or how to feel. I forget sometimes that you don't want help. And it just makes me crazy how you won't let other people in, even when you're obviously hurting."

My eyes grow wide. I've never thought of Brue MacLeod as considering how I react to people.

He continues, "I know things have been weird between us since Vegas. I thought tonight I could make up for being a dick to you while we were there."

Part of me wants to claw his eyes out and hack his face apart at his revelation that he feels like he owes me something. And another part of me – the part that wanted that kiss to go on and on – just wants him to let me do it again. It's pathetic.

He's watching the play of emotions on my face and must see something that clues him in to how I'm interpreting his words. He shakes his head. "I'm just saying you don't need to apologize for the kiss."

I can't tear my eyes from his or I might start to cry. I'm sure this is where he tells me that we're even now for our mutual bad behavior. I even dredge a half-hearted smile from my bag of tricks to encourage him to spill it so we can get on our way. The sooner I'm home, the sooner I can stop holding myself together.

He shakes his head again, brow furrowed, and rakes his hands through his hair. "I'm making a total mess of this." He broods for a minute, looking very sinister in the half-light as he considers me and our surroundings. Suddenly, he bites out, "Fuck it."

And then he pulls me toward him. His lips find mine with more force than is strictly necessary. When he gentles their caress, I make a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan because they feel like _home_ right in this second. My fingers knot into his curls and hold on for dear life as I suck his bottom lip between mine. His hands – those musician's hands – tug me across the center console so that I'm straddling his lap. I'm not sure how long we kiss, especially when his tongue touches the bow of my top lip and I slant my mouth to deepen it. I'm lost in the way his curls slide against my fingers, the smell of his skin up close, and the feel of his body, long and lean, between my thighs.

One hand holds the back of my neck while the other sneaks under my tank top and urges me to arch my back so his lips can skim across my jaw and down my neck in a needy trail. He follows the path of his lips with a finger, tracing my throat to the hollow where my heart drums a rapid cadence, then lower to the spot where his lips last touched. Back and forth, his forefinger traces the edge of my tank. I'm breathless from wanting him to move it aside. His eyes chase the motion of his finger as if he can't tear them away from my breasts. With his other hand, he reaches to where I clutch his springy curls. He threads his fingers through mine and pulls my arm forward, stroking his thumb along my wrist and the elastic before bringing that same spot up to his lips. His kiss there is tender, like butterfly wings, brushing a sore spot on my soul.

"It's okay. You're okay." He murmurs each word against my wrist. It tickles a little, but that's not the only reason the hairs on my arms are standing on end. He's trying to give me what he thinks I need. It makes me want to weep, especially thinking that he's doing this out of some twisted sense of duty. I would pull away and sleep with my cold honor tonight if I was a prouder person. But I never said I would proud. I'm a pauper who's been staring at this banquet for half a year, dying to feast myself on him. I don't really care why he's in this, just that he's here and this is real.

Fuck pride.

So I grind against him and my breath hitches when I feel him erect underneath me. It's a thousand times better than I thought it would be, Brue MacLeod hard against me. Both my hands grip his bunched-up shirt and I streak them down his abs to reach underneath. He hisses as they make contact with bare skin, especially when I push his shirt up impatiently so I can tangle my hands in the sprinkling of chest hair that's grown back across his pecs.

I lean in to kiss him, tangling my tongue with his. I'm not sure if it's his hands on my thighs or my voracious need to get his shirt off that causes it, but somehow I bump the horn. It goes off with a loud honk that startles us both.

I'm sure that Brue is going to come back to himself and push me away. So when he breaks the kiss and starts to say something, I interrupt him with another impatient kiss. "Don't you dare say that we should stop."

His chuckle rumbles underneath my hands on his chest. He starts again, "I was just going to say-"

I bite his lower lip, then lick the spot to soothe it. "Stop telling me how to act. Stop telling _us_ how to act." I drag his hands higher on my thighs, under my skirt. He immediately starts rubbing circles on my hip bones as he considers me.

"What do you want me to tell you, then?" His smile flashes, very white in the dim light.

I wonder if he's teasing or testing me in some way, but I'm done playing games. It's been a long dry spell and I want him to just shut the hell up so we can get on with it. "I want you to tell me how this feels."

I sweep both hands into his waistband and pop the button and zipper. I reach inside his underwear to stroke him, shifting so I can learn his outline. Brue may have let his chest hair grow out, but he still trims so he can fit into his swimsuit. For once I'm glad for manscaping: in the confines of the car, I'm sure I'd be making this uncomfortable rather than pleasurable without it.

"Fuck," he rasps as I sketch him. He lurches into my hand when I linger on a spot near the tip, his own hands roaming at will. He announces incredulously, "You're really _not_ wearing underwear."

I shift again in the limited space so he has better access as he resumes his own exploration. "I was in a hurry." I lean forward and kiss him again, humming as a fingertip slips inside me. He isn't tentative or cautious, the way I imagined he would be all those nights in my room with the Purple Monster. I love this unexpected, demanding side of him.

"Please tell me you have a condom," he exhales as he concentrates on mapping me with his fingertips.

My breath hitches when he strokes a spot I particularly like but I'm frustrated because there's not enough room for both of us to move the way I want. I lean forward and suck lightly on his earlobe before reaching for my bag. I have to pause because the new angle gives him room to slide a finger all the way inside me and the way he rocks his palm against my core distracts me in the best possible way. Finally I'm able to grab a condom, despite the way his wrist coaxes me to lose control. When I turn back to him and wield the foil packet triumphantly, he smirks and activates the seat presets. I jerk against him with a cry of surprise as we slide backward and the seat back reclines.

I shoot him a dirty look that has him grinning at me. It's hard to keep the scowl on my face, though, especially when he claims my lips and slips a second finger inside me. I'm torn between straining against those fingers until I shatter – it won't take me long at this rate, especially when he draws tight circles with his thumb that have me arching in delicious pleasure into another kiss– or scrambling until I can have him inside me instead.

Our mouths break apart, breathless and wet. "Tell me what you want," I practically mewl, scraping my hands up his chest to tweak his nipples. His fingers are driving me crazy. I'm rapidly losing control and I'm afraid he knows it.

He props me up so I'm leaning slightly away from him. His eyes devour me as they streak from my face to where his hands leave me hot and so close to the edge that I'm trembling. He drags my top aside and plucks a nipple as I tighten around him. Our breath is loud in the enclosed space, louder than his fingers moving through the wetness pouring out of me. I don't think I can take any more. Every muscle in my thighs is taut as he brushes a spot inside me once, twice.

The heat blooms into an inferno, though, when he looks right at me and says, "I want my cock inside you."

I cry out.

He helps me ride out the golden haze with a dark look I've never seen before. Like he's insatiable and I'm his last, best meal. That look has me ripping open the foil packet before I've even caught my breath, maneuvering so I can slide the condom on and sink onto him. I'm still sensitive and it makes me clench around him, but I grit my teeth. I want him so badly, want to watch _him_ lose control, that I don't care if it physically hurts me to do this.

I can't really ride him easily, so I let him guide my hips in a pace he likes. I expect punishing, driving, a claiming of my already burning skin, but I should know better. Brue grabs my hips, alright. But instead of the fast in and out that I'm sure is coming, he undulates his hips like he wants to learn everything there is to learn about me.

"You're so wet," he groans.

I hope he doesn't expect an answer. At this point, all I'm capable of is holding on for dear life and kissing whatever I can reach as the sinuous motion of his body hits _all_ the spots I like. Because it feels _good._ Like suction from oral and rocking and thrusting, one right on top of the other, as his hips slide and writhe languorously. Forget being sensitive, I'm straining toward him with every stroke, trembling at the teasing pace. I want more: deeper, faster, until I can't think.

I bite down on his shoulder through his shirt as I clench around him and he sucks in a surprised breath. It's like he totally gets what I want, though. "Not yet, Jo. I want to feel every inch of you. You're already trembling and gripping me. It's amazing, do you know that? Like a hand job, or the hottest, tightest mouth you can imagine."

Fuck. His words are as lethal as the lazy motions of his hips.

I moan into his ear. Maybe it's a plea, maybe it's just a noise. Whatever it is, it spurs him to reach behind me to where we're joined. He's touching us, feeling himself slide in and out while gently separating me.

I can't breathe. Can't think. There's only his body playing with mine and driving me inevitably higher and higher. I'm teettering over the edge, rocking on waves of pleasure so intense that I see colors in the darkness behind my eyelids. When he shifts my leg so I'm more fully impaled, the earth shatters into a million blinding shards of every shade imaginable.

-o—

It's quiet on the way back to my dorm. What exactly do you say after the best sex of your life? I'm boneless, so relaxed that I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of the car. So, when Brue pulls up to the door, I stare at the light shining from my dorm room window for a minute trying to piece a coherent thought together.

"Thanks for coming tonight." I opt for simplicity, only realizing the double entendre after the words are out of my mouth.

It's not lost on him, though, and he chuckles. "My pleasure."

"I'll see you around," I say quietly as I unlatch my seatbelt and gather my bag and the Wet Ones we used to clean up.

"Are we running tomorrow?"

I nod without meeting his eyes. I'm not sure why I feel disappointed at the banality of this conversation. What did I expect? A declaration of undying love? _You should be happy he gave you tonight, Jo._ I climb out of the car, trying not to show the leap of hope I feel when he says my name.

His eyes meet mine. "Goodnight, Jo."

I nod and wave in reply.

I watch for a long time as he puts the car in drive and takes off down Childs Way, which is lined with blooming purple jacaranda. When I can't even see his taillights any more, I make my way inside on shaky legs with an even shakier heart.


	30. Secrets

It's our first dinner back in L.A. and Peeta's wrapping some sort of fish in foil. "These are going to cook quickly, so let's make sure everything else is ready." He finishes sprinkling it with crack, or pixie dust, or something amazing and points where he's got a cauliflower au gratin baking and a salad. I let the guys do the tossing. They can do some of the work, for once, while I sit my butt down and do something strenuous like fold napkins.

Peeta's place as a food god was nothing but reinforced during our summer together. I've seen him transform the equivalent of a quarter cup of dried oats, an apple of indeterminate age and origin, one tablespoon of pancake syrup, and sheer will into breakfast for five.

It's a fucking superpower, I tell you.

And he did all of that while managing Katniss's total freak out over him seeing her house for the first time. I mean, I get the _idea_ of poor, but her house was a total shock to me, so I can only imagine what Peeta thought. Katniss's house didn't just lack a big screen or Xbox. No. There was no TV _at all_. Her sister Prim didn't have a cell phone, and the laptop she used was borrowed from her school's media department. The coat rack by the front door was a set of antlers from a deer that Katniss said her dad had bagged on a hunting trip before she was born. Everything was meticulously cared for and clean. Hell, you could eat cereal out of the toilet bowl! But no one was going to run out of room in that pantry, if you get my drift.

The most disturbing thing, though, was not the lack of _stuff._ It's that looking around her house, you got the feeling of age: the linoleum was worn through to the sub-floor in front of the stove; the basement had a fuse box with glass fuses, and the entire exterior of the house was faded to a mottled gray color from the wind and salt that pelted the siding every winter. On the West Coast, weathering like that would be called "vintage". There, where the window screens sat uneasily on frames that weren't quite square, it wasn't nearly as quaint.

Not to mention it was so freaking quiet! Maybe that's because it's just her and her sister since Mrs. Everdeen wasn't home, like, at all. Or maybe it's the total lack of electronics. Either way, the Everdeen house was a total 180 degree opposite of the Mason house. Believe it or not, I actually missed my brothers' belching contests and wrestling matches. Good thing I was able to head over to the Hawthorne's for a dose of that almost whenever I wanted.

So when Peeta showed up as a "surprise" the day after we got there - while I was still reeling from the actual understanding that Katniss does her homework in pencil not as an artsy, anti-Microsoft statement, but because pencil and paper are the cheapest things she can use - Katniss freaked. I mean, F-R-E-A-K-E-D. She was in the middle of grilling Prim on why there wasn't any real food in the cupboards when the knock came. When she opened the door and saw Peeta, I was sure she was going to burst into tears. I knew from her expression that she didn't want to invite him. Somehow, though, Peeta talked her off the ledge, came into the house, and whipped up a breakfast loaf that had us all devouring it as soon as it was cool enough to slice. And when Gale showed a little while later, there was even enough for him. We were bereft when Peeta left a week before the rest of us. It was like we didn't even know what to do with ourselves and had to subsist on ramen, off-brand mac and cheese, and whatever else we could throw together ourselves.

Finn walks into the frat house gently guiding Annie behind him. He reaches out to hug me. "Mason, you're looking curvy. Didn't I tell you the food on that coast would do you in?"

"Did you just call me _fat_? Fuck you, Finn. You realize you just said that to a girl with an eating disorder?" I punch him on the arm and then hug Annie. It's a little tricky, considering her belly's sticking out like she swallowed a regulation basketball.

I feel her chuckle more than hear it as she pats my shoulder. "Good to have you back, Jo." She pulls back and says more loudly, "Maybe now Finn will have someone else to pick on."

He sends her a look of mock indignation. "I _never_ pick on you!"

She laughs, "What about my cooking?"

Finn looks sheepish. "It's not my fault that you can't cook."

They continue their banter as they walk past me and sit at the table too.

I smile. Funny thing is, it's good to _be back_. I had a blast this summer, but I'm not gonna lie - it's good to be back in L.A.

"I think Jo looks good curvy," Brue says from the doorway.

I know it's totally wrong for my heart to be galloping a mile a minute, but just his wry half-smile is enough to get it going like a thoroughbred at the Del Mar Racetrack. _Fuck._ I've got to get it under control. I stick my hip out and give him my best Jessica Rabbit femme fatale pose. "Thanks, Brainless."

He laughs. How is it possible that his teeth are whiter than they were when I left? "Brainless? Yeah, well, let's see if you've still got legs left when we run tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I want to know why we can't go running today. Tonight. Like right now. Because I can't really wait to be alone and sweaty with him, and I do mean that in the nastiest way possible.

 _Get a grip, Mason._ None of the texts we've exchanged over the summer have even hinted at what happened that night in the car.

"Yeah, tomorrow. I'm giving you one day to relax and deal with jet lag before I'm putting you through a workout."

I have to do something to hide the smile threatening to overtake my face, so I turn back to the table. "Anyone want anything to drink? Peeta's got some new concoction for us to try." I wait for everyone to give me their choices before heading to the fridge.

"Guys, you should try the new brew. It's the whole reason I came back early." Peeta breezes in to get tongs, then slams his way outside to finish at the grill.

I grab a couple of what he's calling _First Round Draft_ and pass them around. It's his first foray at bottling – kegs are cheaper and certainly more sanitary – and I'm sure he wants everyone to try it. Everyone but Annie, that is. As for his statement that it was the whole reason he came back early, I hold back a snort. Katniss's face is impassive, so I decide that now is not the time to divulge how many run-ins she had with Mrs. Mellark.

Because let's face it: if Peeta's dad is a big, friendly bear-of-a-man, his mom is small and lethal, with quick hands and a quicker tongue. Maybe it's to balance out Mr. Mellark's cheerful garrulity, or maybe it's because she was dropped on her head or something, but she's basically a cross between a viper and a PMS-ing ninja. The first two times she cuffed Peeta or his older brother, I was surprised. By the end of the summer, though, it was something I expected: if she was in the vicinity, Peeta and Rye were the very definition of quiet and circumspect. Even I was afraid to draw attention to myself around her.

And she freaking hates Katniss.

This summer was nothing but good times, I tell you.

Madge and Gale walk in just in time. They barely have time to hug everyone, wash up, and take a seat before plates of delicately lemon-and-rosemary-scented fish with salad and cauliflower are placed in front of them.

"Nice of you to make it, Kitten." I emphasize Madge's pet name for Gale with a drawl. It's become something of a joke that Gale ignores anyone who uses it except Madge. And since I can't help but goad him every chance I get…I know. I'm a bitch.

"Everything looks great, Peet. Sorry we're late, but we got hung up."

I snort. "I bet. Was Madge on her back or bent over?"

Madge daintily tosses a dinner roll at me while Gale rolls his eyes.

"You guys, I want to hear all about the exciting stuff that happened during break. Well, after I pee." Annie rubs her belly and maneuvers away from the table. "Go ahead and get started, but don't tell any of the good stuff until I get back."

Finn takes a bite of his roll. "Annie has to pee like 87 times a day now. You'll get used to it." He leans in and mock whispers, "Her doctor says it's going to get _worse._ "

"I heard that!" she yells from the hallway.

Finn laughs. "So, Jo… tell us your impressions of the East Coast."

I take a bite of fish. It's flaky in exactly the way fish should be, with the right balance of buttery softness, a hint of lemon, the tang of rosemary, and not one single iota of fishiness to be found. Contrast that with the firm, crunchy, creamy goodness of the cauliflower au gratin and washed down with the slightly bitter, hoppy crispness of Peeta's beer, and my taste-buds are in heaven. I know Katniss and I are good friends and all, but I'm siding with Peeta if they ever break up.

I think for a minute as I chew. "The bugs are gigantic. Like, seriously. They're part of the reason I didn't run as much as I wanted to. They just come right at you and keep coming - like tiny insect Terminators. Is there a lab or something where they biologically engineer them and they escaped?"

I look at Gale, since he is the one most likely to mastermind some sort of fucked-up life form. He looks at me and doesn't even smile when he says, "Well, you know Sikorsky is only two towns over. They make Black Hawk helicopters. Why not engineer little tiny insect drones too?"

"That sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel," Annie laughs as she maneuvers back into her chair.

Gale blinks at her and says with a straight face, "Yeah. He lives relatively close too. Maybe they're working together – the Army and Stephen King."

There's a beat of silence as we all look at his stony, poker face before someone bursts into laughter. We all join in and I'm laughing until I cry. I wipe my eyes and lean forward. "Here's the thing: Madge took me to a place called Stew Leonard's. Have you guys heard of it?"

Madge defends, "Everyone has to go to Stew's. It's tradition."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "It's basically like Trader Joe's, Disneyland, and Detroit had a love child. It's a grocery store where you can watch your milk and juice being bottled, get sushi, choose your own live lobsters, and listen to animatronic displays in almost every section. And they have a _petting zoo_. That's like putting a petting zoo outside of Costco. You get to pet it then go cook it. How is that not sick?"

"What can I say? We're pretty bad ass, right Catnip? Fresh is best!" Gale reaches across the table and high-fives her.

Yeah, bad ass indeed. My roommate showed me that she actually knows how to use a bow and arrow and that fucking seven inch knife Gale and Madge got her for her birthday. "Katniss doesn't pet it before she kills it," I shudder and point out. It's not like I didn't enjoy trying the venison or rabbit stew over the summer. But thinking about the animals before they were killed…yeah. Not fucking happening.

"That's because Prim would kill _me_ if I did," Katniss says with a half smirk on her face.

I chuckle because that's totally true: her little sister may look more like Madge than Katniss, but she is as fierce as Catwoman when it comes to anything with fur. That includes her gigantic coon-tabby known as Buttercup. It's even more hilarious when you factor in that Buttercup hates Katniss's guts almost as much as Mrs. Mellark does.

Finn laughs and looks at each of us before saying, "I don't get it: you shopped and you ate? That was it?"

"Jo met my scholarship sponsor. She made quite an impression," Katniss's tone is so dry that there's little left to guess.

Yeah, I met Haymitch. And yeah, he can't stand me. Alright, so I might have called him a drunk once or twice and I might have, _allegedly_ told him he couldn't get it up without Viagra and some grapefruit juice. But that was only because he would periodically pass out and the only thing that would rouse him was either cold water in the face or screeching at him like a harpy. Guess which tactic I chose? "He's a pervy old man. I get that he pays your tuition and lets you hunt on his property, but I still don't understand it: he was barely coherent whenever we were there and he didn't even give a shit about your progress at school. Doesn't that seem weird to you?" I leave out that he's oddly obsessed with weapons. Like, the guy sleeps with a knife.

Did I mention that he's sort of psycho?

Katniss ignores me. I know for a fact that she and Haymitch have a strange relationship: it's mostly antagonistic. If I hadn't seen the two of them hug goodbye, I would have sworn that he paid her tuition out of some sort of guilt trip. He's there for her, though. The truth is, weird as the relationship is, Katniss seems closer to Haymitch than to her own mother.

"Katniss taught me to swim," Peeta interjects as he clears plates. Katniss ducks her head bashfully.

Annie smiles at them both. "That's great!"

"You didn't know how?" Finn looks like he can't believe anyone living on this earth does not know how to swim.

Peeta shrugs. "Never got around to it. She was a great teacher." The look he gives Katniss is so tender that it makes me want to throw up a little bit in my mouth. I check myself and watch as she turns a smile on him that makes the world drop away until only the two of them are left.

 _Fuck_. When are these two gonna bone already?

I know for a grade-A fact that they didn't get any alone time this summer: Mrs. Mellark and Prim made sure of that. Oh, sure, Katniss could have crept out and maybe done the nasty in the back of the Mellark's delivery van, but Peeta is not that sort of guy. Nor, evidently, is he the sort to slip her the electric eel of love while learning to swim in Haymitch's man-made private lake.

Yeah. You heard that right: Haymitch has a fucking _lake_.

Plus, they had Prim as a chaperone that day. Watching Peeta flail around in the water was too much for me and I spent the afternoon with Haymitch, who showed me how to throw an axe at some trees that he found particularly offensive for some reason. I also learned how to split logs, which is not a euphemism. By the end of the day, I was probably sorer – and had seen more wood - than Katniss, which is really a pity. Who doesn't want to have at least one crazy sexscapade during their summer vacation?

Finn tells Peeta that he should come by the pool for a lesson. "I'll be at least a gentle as Katniss," he says with a wink.

I don't hear Peeta's laughing reply over the water pouring into the sink: somehow I'm on dish duty again. Brue immediately materializes next to me brandishing a dish towel. It reminds me of our water fight on Katniss's birthday.

His voice sends a shiver through me when he leans in. "So you had a good summer?"

I concentrate on the plates and silverware. "Yeah. You?"

He shrugs. "It was okay. Mostly working for my dad. I'm sorry I didn't text more. Things got pretty hectic for a while."

That explains why his texts dried up about a month into break. At least it wasn't something I said, what with running off at the mouth about all the stuff we were doing and eating. Like Brue needed a catalog of events. Somehow, though, I couldn't bring myself to stop doing it until his responses dropped to just a few a day. That's when I finally took the hint and stopped sending him details about every little thing.

"It's alright. Keeping Katniss in line took a lot of effort." _Ha._ What I really mean is that it took a lot of self-control for me to not call him, especially when he went radio-silent. "Did you manage to do anything fun?"

"We saw some bands. I put in a lot of late nights." He folds the towel and we make our way to the table where Peeta is dishing dessert.

It's an apple cake, golden and heady with the scent of fall and still warm. Just being in the same room reminds me of carnivals, homecoming games, and the first day of school. And he's laying slices of it next to scoops of ice cream and serving it with whipped cream and a Red-Hot sauce reduction that adds just the right amount of sugary zing to the buttery goodness of the cake and the sweet-tart of the apples.

It's like a hug from a candied apple, eating this cake.

It's surprising how few desserts we had over the summer. You'd think that being closer to the bakery would have meant lots of baked goods, but Peeta's witch of a mother had him working almost all the time. She especially kept him busy once she ferreted out that he and Katniss were an item. It seemed like every time we saw him he was more and more exhausted. He tended to make us breakfast items, aligning his morning deliveries so he could stop at the house just as we were rising for the day. He would whip up pancakes in a bazillion flavors, coffee cakes, oatmeal, and, only once or twice the whole summer, egg, bacon, and avocado sandwiches on Mellark's famous cheese buns. Oh, and Katniss and I discovered that Peeta's absence on weekdays meant we had to learn to cook. We're not half-bad, either, if you factor in that most of our culinary skills involve a loaf pan or a casserole dish and are topped with tater tots or boxed mashed potatoes.

I'm focused on every single bite of this cake, since it reaffirms our return to school and the way things _were_. Just like Dorothy learned to appreciate Oz but knew she wanted to go home, so did I.

"Jo? Are you ok?" Peeta asks, concerned, while the rest of the crew gather around Brue's cell phone and look at concert pictures.

I lick every drop of the cinnamon sauce off my fork before lifting another bite to my mouth. "Never better, Peeta."

He shoots me an answering smile and that's when I tune in to Finn razzing Brue.

"Forget the band. Who's the hot blonde?" He's pointing to a blonde in a short, tight mini-dress taking a selfie with Brue.

"She's a friend from high school."

Finn lets out a low whistle as he takes the phone that Brue was making no effort to hide for a closer look. "I wish my high school had girls who looked like this. Did you hit that? Please tell me you hit that." Finn winks in response to Annie's dirty look and leans over to kiss her lightly on the lips.

I'm suddenly very interested in drawing circles in whipped cream with my fork. None of them know that Brue and I got horizontal, so it's not like it's a surprise that Finn would ask about the girl. What is somewhat shocking is that Brue would hang out with someone and not tell me. I have to remind myself that we're not involved. We're just friends who happened to have utterly mind-blowing sex, that's all.

Brue gives Finn a boyish grin. "A gentleman never kisses and tells."

That as good as confirms it. I want to scream. I want to stab him with my fork. I want to go buy a tub of Ben and Jerry's and console myself, or swipe the rest of the cake that now tastes like ash in my mouth and hide out in my room for a week.

Finn, oblivious to my wish for a hole to open in the floor and swallow me, hands the phone back to Brue. "I'm not sure where your willpower comes from. If I was single, she was single, and she looked at me like that, I'd sneak in there one more time. For science."

"I'll pass." I feel Brue's eyes on me for a second. By the time I look up from where I've eviscerated what's left of my cake, he's looking at Peeta with a smile and motioning to his own slice. "This is amazing."

Surprisingly, Madge butts in with some pastry disrespect, "Peeta, it _is_ good. But I think Rye's might be better. Remember the apple cake he made?"

"You mean the double layer with custard and apple filling and sour cream frosting?" Peeta asks. He frowns and stares at his cake as if it Madge finding it lacking means he just lost his chance at his own Food Network show.

"Yeah. He and Delly brought it when we barbecued at my house that one night. Remember, Katniss?"

The barbecue is a sore spot for Katniss, still. "You mean when Rye and Delly practically dry humped while the rest of us watched?"

"I'm not sure how dry it was, to be honest," I can't help but add. Peeta's brother is older, taller, and less inhibited. With his rippling muscles, tawny hair that's a couple of shades darker than Peeta's, and the winsome Mellark smile, Rye is hot, even without factoring in the Mellark beanstalk. And he likes to use that hotness to maximum advantage: he's the only guy I've ever seen who can figure out a way to scratch his stomach while making a bakery delivery so that his shirt rides up to expose his gloriously tan six pack. I'm sure he's half the reason that cheese buns sell as well as they do – it's hard to look at Rye Mellark and _not_ think about buns. Basically, if Peeta had a porn star doppelganger, Rye would be it. No wonder he got Peeta the Mellark bible: he's probably horrified at his younger brother's lack of game.

I see the color in Katniss's cheeks before she turns very angry eyes my way. Yep. Everdeen's still pissed about Delly. Delly is Rye's voluptuous and outgoing steady. She is also the girl who, once upon a time, offered to blow Peeta. I think it was really more of a friendly gesture though, rather than a romantic one. Katniss still isn't buying it. It's like I just threw a red cape in front of a raging bull.

"Of course you say that. You practically joined in!" Her accusatory tone would have me laughing if I weren't worried about whether she brought her knife back to school.

I shrink back for a second, affronted. Sure, Rye pulled me into his lap at one point, leaning in like he's going to kiss me. And, sure, Delly beat him to it and we all mashed lips for a second before I used dinner as an excuse to hop off his Spirit Stick and let Delly swap spit with him for real. Delly might be friendly, and she might have mentioned to me several times over the summer that we were going to be besties because we were both cheerleaders, but I draw the line at an up-close and personal display of Rye's enthusiasm. Especially when all it does is make me think of a pair of dark blue eyes.

I shoot a glance at Madge to let her know that I can't believe she brought this up. "Rye looked like he could use a hand. And Delly and I were both cheerleaders in high school. She seemed friendly."

Katniss is running on her own steam now and throws her braid over her shoulder. "So you ended up in his lap too? So the two of you could get friendly together? God. And to think that Delly wanted to… wanted to…"

Katniss trails off like she can't even think about Delly's lips anywhere near Peeta's vagwrecker of a cock. I know I should respect it. I really should. You'd think she would be happy, finding out that it was just an _offer_ and not the real thing. And Everdeen is allowed to be jealous, right? Except that I know it really bugs her to be jealous. Offer or not, I just don't have the kind of willpower to leave that alone like I know I should.

"I'm sure it was more of an educational sort of offer. You know, like she thought Peeta might benefit from her worldly knowledge." I don't let on that Rye told me Delly can deep throat like a world champion. She's the only girl he's ever met who can take what he calls the _Mellark Monster._ "And I sat on Rye's lap because Peeta and Gale have girlfriends who would have minded. Delly was up for sharing."

That's a mild understatement. I get the feeling that Delly and Rye would have been more than willing for a little group playtime, especially after a round or two. I had declined at the time. After seeing the blonde on Brue's phone, though, I'm not sure if I should have.

Peeta looks pained. "Guys, don't you think that we've gone over this enough? Katniss-"

Katniss shakes her head vehemently to cut him off and bites her lip. She won't meet my eyes at all and I know that, despite all of our discussions of Rye and Delly's relationship, she still doesn't get that Peeta's witnessed way more of their bump and grind through the years. It's like he barely registers it. I'm almost positive that Delly's offer was akin to her offering to pass him the salt.

Brue stares at me. He's agape, like I just said I screwed a donkey or starred in a porn. It's no worse than him talking about some blonde bimbo ex of his, though. "Sounds like quite a night," he says quietly.

"I'm sure it doesn't top any of yours." I give him a sickly sweet grin which has him frowning in return. I'm pretty sure we both reach the same conclusion simultaneously: no matter what we do tomorrow, it involves upright activities only.

-o—

"What the fuck was that in there? You brought up the barbecue _and_ dissed Peeta's baking? Are you crazy?" I finally ask Madge as we trudge back to the dorms. We leave Katniss behind to reunite with Peeta in what I hope is steamier scene than the train ride in _Risky Business_ , but I'm afraid that it will have all of the sexuality of a _Saved by the Bell_ reunion. Maybe Madge did it to nudge Katniss in Peeta's direction, but I doubt reminding her that some curvy blonde who can fill out a sweater and a tight miniskirt like nobody's business almost had her cherry red lips around his pork loin is going to make the evening more passionate. If anything, I'm sure Katniss is going to flog him for sins he didn't even get to commit.

"Come on, Jo. Peeta knows that he tops anything his brother can do in the kitchen. Besides, I did it for you. I saw those pictures on Brue's phone. More importantly, I saw you looking at those pictures."

I play it off. "What are you talking about?"

Madge cocks her head to the side. "You. Brue. Something's changed between the two of you. And your face when you saw those pictures… it was worse than when Delly tried to hug Katniss goodbye at the end of the summer." She shrugs. "So I thought it would be helpful for him to know that you didn't spend the summer waiting for him."

I don't answer. On the one hand, I'm scared that any of the group has picked up on the change in dynamic between me and Brue. I specifically haven't told anyone about what happened so that there's no way it affects any of our friendships. Besides, what is there to tell, really? Boning in a car. That's it. On the other hand, I'm touched that Madge would defend me at all.

She clears her throat. "I have a favor to ask. About the night of the barbecue. Could we…do you think we could keep what happened later just between us? Gale's already sworn to secrecy."

Gale would: Madge's dad is his scholarship advisor. Anything that hurts the Undersees is going to have a direct effect on Gale, never mind his relationship with Madge.

"Who would I tell, Madge? I'm just, well, I'm baffled that no one has ever said anything before."

"Our help is very loyal. And she…she doesn't usually come out of her room. All of Daddy's colleagues know that she has episodes. No one, not even me, sees her when she's like that. I just keep thinking that it would crush Daddy. And the news media would pick it up…it would be a nightmare. So if you could just keep it to yourself?" her voice rises. I wonder if it's panic or desperation, or both. She's walking fast, even in her heeled sandals. I have to put a hand on her arm to slow her down and get her to face me. Her eyes are a little wild, out of control. And Madge is rarely, if ever, out of control.

"Slow down. Count on it going with me to my grave." I cross my hand over my heart. "You're my friend, Madge. I'd never tell anyone."

"Thanks." Relief floods her and she hugs me awkwardly, which has us both laughing. We talk about mundane things the rest of the way home: what secret ingredients Peeta puts in his stuff, class schedules, whether Toms are better than Sketchers, whether we should throw a baby shower for Annie.

I'm only half-listening though. Instead, I'm picturing margaritas made with strawberries so sweet my teeth hurt in a house where every picture looked like it was taken by a professional photographer, Madge laughingly shushing Gale when he tried to lure her into a tickle fight while we waited for Katniss to return from walking Peeta halfway home, and all the color draining from Madge's face when her mother's voice rang through the house.

-o-

" _What am I supposed to do with these sorry excuses for fruit?" Madge laughs as Gale hands her the strawberries in a compostable container._

" _They're your favorite, Undersee. You'll figure it out," he replies cheekily. He pinches her butt and she doesn't immediate slap him down, making the rest of us laugh._

_We're sitting around the pool in Madge's backyard, all of the couples paired up and watching the sunset as Peeta takes over the job of grilling the venison Katniss shot. This is the last of it, just like it's almost the last of our summer. Delly and Rye show up barely in time for dinner, laughing and already drunk on each other. Katniss spends the night brooding and rolling her eyes as they touch each other like they can't get enough, but I see the way her eyes linger on Peeta. She's been doing that more and more – reaching out with her eyes instead of her hands. I wonder if he has any idea how pent up she is?_

_So we eat. We grab dessert. Of course Rye makes us all gush about the cream filling, which he insists is a Rye Mellark secret recipe._

_Madge finally breaks up the party when she catches Delly and Rye having sex in the bathroom off the kitchen. I can tell that it really bothers Katniss, especially when she sees how relaxed Delly looks. How happy. Rye hugs and kisses all of us goodbye, as does Delly, laughing off the fact that they're getting booted out of the Undersee's and they take off to finish up somewhere else._

_Peeta announces into the awkward silence that follows that he has to be at work early the next morning, and Katniss jumps on the chance to walk him at least halfway home. The rest of us agree to hang out at Madge's until Katniss gets back so we can walk home together._

_We're hanging out in the den watching TV when the first call comes like the plaintive wail of a baby bird. I don't hear it. Neither does Madge. It's Gale who shakes her shoulder and forces her to mute the TV. When the sound comes again, louder, closer, and more obviously slurred, Madge's face loses all its color._

" _Pumpkin? Pumpkin? Where are you? Mummy needs you."_

_I look around but all I see are pictures of a perfect family: her handsome father wearing a dark suit and an American flag tie tack, a gorgeous blonde woman in suits that cost more than anything my step-mother owns, and Madge, always to the right of her father and never, ever next to her mother. They're like beautiful, blonde book-ends in every photo._

_There's a sound of glass breaking and a strange, high pitched giggle. The woman who stumbles into the room is barefoot, wearing only a silk slip that reaches her knees. It clings to her skin and is see-through in spots from where water, and something that may be vomit have soaked through it. Her eyes are wide and dark, an older version of Madge's in a face that would be beautiful if it weren't smeared with mascara and almost gaunt. She seems surprised to see us and clutches the pearls at her throat with a bloody hand that's holding something small and cylindrical._

" _Pumpkin? I didn't know you had company! You should have told me you were having people over," she chastises Madge, while pushing back her matted, blonde hair and drawing herself up to her full height as she weaves unsteadily on her feet. The smell of vodka seeps from her pores. I can smell it even over the rank smell of sweat, vomit, and cloyingly sweet perfume. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Mrs. Undersee." She holds out her hand, the one that she must have cut on the way into the room, dropping what she's holding in the process._

_The prescription bottle skitters across the floor and under the couch. Her eyes track it like a red-tailed hawk tracks a rabbit. She forgets all about us, dropping to her knees with a cry to chase after it._

_-o-_

"Jo? Jo! Have you heard a word I've said?" Madge and I stand outside our dorm and she watches me with concern.

"I'm sorry. What?" I shake my head, the memory of Madge helping her mother to her feet, masterfully guiding her back to her room while Gale fetched bandages, still fresh in my mind.

"Do you think we should do a Trojan theme or a Winnie the Pooh theme for Annie's shower?" she says slowly, like she's asked it before.

"I like Winnie the Pooh." I force myself to focus on the Madge who's here with me now and not the one who seemed to know exactly what to do to calm her mother down despite her own embarrassment.

"We'll have to learn how to draw it for the decorations, then. Maybe Peeta will help with that." Madge turns to the door to swipe her keycard.

"That's a great idea," I murmur.

I'm learning a lot of things so far this year: Peeta and Katniss still can't level with each other about their feelings; Brue's not nearly the good guy he lets everyone believe; and Gale's not nearly as bad as I thought he was, especially around his family. And who would have thought Finn's more than capable of settling happily into married life?

We've all got secrets – parts of ourselves we haven't shown yet.

And Madge's? Madge's secret may be bigger than the one that Peeta still hides from almost everyone, and I don't mean the total world dominator he keeps in his pants. I wonder if Madge has ever admitted to anyone that her need for power and control tracks back to the fact that her mother is an addict.

"Jo, are you sure you're ok? I'm here to talk if you want. You know, about Brue…or whatever. You've been really quiet tonight."

"I'm just tired." I give her a smile, turning up the intensity just enough to appease her. What I really want is to run so fast and so hard that I forget all about secrets and friends and family. Maybe then I can forget the images of Madge competently wiping her own mother's face with a warm cloth like she does it every day, Gale's grim intensity while he bandaged Mrs. Undersee's hand, Prim clinging to her sister and sobbing goodbye while Katniss tried not to break down in front of her, and Peeta, determined to make Katniss proud, standing in wet swim trunks with a shirt he refused to take off.

I don't have any of those connections. Healthy or not, there's no one in the world who loves me or needs me like that, and tonight's dinner proved it. I hadn't realized just how much missing Carys translates into wanting someone in my life. I guess I had been hoping that someone would be Brue.

I'm not strong enough to be over it, not yet. That's _my_ secret.


	31. Feels Like The First Time (A Katniss and Peeta Outtake)

"Katniss? You look like you've seen a ghost," Johanna says.

Katniss meets Johanna's eyes as she rises from where she's listening to music and working on her laptop. "Jo…I'm sorry. I know I said I was going to stay with Peeta tonight…" Katniss shakes her head, like whatever is running through her mind is as frightening as the ghost stories floating around the dorm this time of year.

"It's your fucking room too. Get your ass in here and tell me what happened." Johanna scans the corridor as if searching for the boogeyman before shutting the door.

Katniss flops onto her bed and rubs her eyes as if she's exhausted. She waits for the inevitable string of questions, from Johanna. She doesn't have to wait long for her roommate's impatience to boil over. "Did Peeta hurt you? If he did, I will fucking kill him with my bare hands."

"No."

"Well, what then? Did you guys have a fight? I told you that you're spending too much time together for a couple who's holding off on launching his Viking longboat into your unclaimed fjord. You _are_ there, like, every other night." Johanna's gaze bores into Katniss for a moment before her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Wait a second. I told you guys to lubricate! I told you! I knew he was going to unleash the Kraken without proper preparation. Why does no one ever listen—"

"Jo, that's not it either." There is a beat or two of total silence, punctuated only by squawking from Jo's discarded headphones on the desk. Katniss glances at them, distracted, and raises one eyebrow at the volume. "Is that…is that _disco?_ "

Johanna's mouth opens, closes, and opens again. Finally, she grumbles, " _Car Wash_ is a totally decent song."

"That's not _Car Wash_." Katniss walks over to the headphones and puts one close to her ear as she glances at the playlist on the laptop screen. "That's _It's Raining Men_. Jo, every song here is at least 35 years old. K.C. and the Sunshine Band, The Bee Gees, The Village People, Donna Summer, Kool and the Gang. Don't they play that song at weddings?"

Johanna snatches the headphones out of Katniss's hand with a glare. "We were talking about you."

Katniss shakes her head. She knows her roommate has been working hard at studying, especially with midterms approaching, and she suspects the reason is a certain water polo player. She wishes for a brief moment that Johanna would open up about whatever it is that's been bothering her since the start of school. She quickly comes to her senses though. Does she really want to hear all about Johanna's repressed sexual urges, or be privy to what she suspects is her roommate's internal 'days since I've gotten laid' calendar? A shudder runs through her at the thought even as she offers, "If you want to talk about whatever made you put together your _Dancing Queen_ playlist, I'm here."

Johanna pokes a finger at Katniss's chest. "Don't threaten me. Even though this summer I saw you take a squirrel out with an arrow through the eye, I'm still not afraid of you. Now, spill it. What has you spooked?"

Katniss closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I was at Peeta's tonight. He left the room for a minute and told me to pick some music. So, I went over to his Mac. You know I'm not that great with technology yet…"

"Katniss, it's a fucking _Mac_. Buttercup can use a Mac. And?" When Katniss doesn't answer right away, Jo lets out a low whistle. "You found something on his laptop?"

Katniss nods. She can tell that Jo wants to rub her hands together as she assesses all the horrible things a person can do on a laptop, especially when Jo starts to tick them off on her fingers one by one. "He's giving money to some Nigerian email scam. He's _running_ a Nigerian email scam _._ He's blackmailing someone with dirty pictures. He's watching gay biker porn."

Katniss winces a little. "It wasn't gay biker porn."

Johanna meets her gaze frankly. "Are you sure? Because that would explain a lot: he's got the bike and all that leather, and he looks hotter in it than that teen idol that was on the cover of _Out_ magazine a couple of months ago—" At Katniss's dirty look, she shuts up.

Katniss walks over to her bed and lies down, putting her arm over her head.

Silence reigns in the room for a few seconds before Johanna quietly asks, "Was it gay porn _without_ the bike? That can still be pretty hot. I wouldn't have thought Peeta would be that progressive…" At her roommate's continued silence, she heaves an impatient sigh. "No? Well, what? Brainless, I can't do all the work in this conversation. And if it wasn't gay porn, I don't get why you're so upset. Everyone has porn on their computers."

"Everyone?" Katniss peeks from under her arm.

The brunette pulls her ponytail over her shoulder and shrugs. "Yeah. It's pretty normal these days. You guys aren't doing the nasty, after all, and Tumblr makes it so easy….I'm not sure why you're wigging out unless it's something totally freaky."

Katniss props herself up on her arms, obviously looking for any sort of positive spin. "Because his porn is pretty specific, Jo. All of the stuff I found has blond guys and girls with long dark hair."

"He's got porn starring you?"

"It's not starring me—"

Johanna's laugh cuts her off. When she can finally catch her breath, she wheezes, "That is so sweet! He's doing research!"

Katniss isn't amused. "Peeta doesn't _need_ to do research."

"Oh? He's that good? You're riding the Matterhorn, are you?"

Katniss flushes and brushes a hair back from her face. "We're doing fine in that area. Just fine. Even if we haven't gotten around to that actual, specific act." When Johanna raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms, Katniss adds defensively, "Look, I hadn't seen my sister in _a year._ What was I supposed to do? Tell her that I couldn't spend time with her because I would rather take Peeta into the woods so we could finally _do it_? And, sure, we've both been pretty busy since coming back to school, but there is _nothing_ wrong with Peeta when we do find time to be together."

"Mmmhmmm. Well, maybe Peeta really wants the salami slip and slide _._ Is he taking care of you in… other ways? You know, with lips and fingers and tongue?" Katniss's face goes up in flames and she pulls her pillow over her head to hide as Jo laughs. "I take it that's a yes. And what are you doing for him?"

At Katniss's silence, Johanna's jaw drops again. "Wait a minute. He's getting you off with all of his available digits except the one that will take your V-card and doesn't ask for anything in return? No 'wax-on, wax-off'? _Nothing_?" Jo shakes her head. "You get that you could live a hundred years and never deserve this guy? No wonder he angsterbakes all the time. I'm surprised his head hasn't exploded from a semen build up that rivals Vesuvius."

Katniss is quiet for a minute and then pulls the pillow away from her head. "Why wouldn't he bring up that he wants to have sex? If he's downloading porn, wouldn't he have said – or done – something to let me know that he wants to go further? I mean, he sleeps almost fully dressed, so that isn't exactly a hint. I just assumed it was because he opens his window at night, though, and got chilly."

"You'll have to ask him because I have no idea how someone waits a year to do the one-eyed snake tango."

Katniss shakes her head. "No way. I can't just bring it up…"

"You have to. Do you want to wait _another_ year to meet Vlad the Impaler? Peeta's likely to start his own bakery at this rate! Besides, we're going to give you a little power-boost." Johanna gets up and walks to Katniss's dresser. Rooting around in one of the drawers, she crows triumphantly when she finds what she's looking for and swings it around on her finger.

"Jo?" Katniss gapes.

"I think it's time we bring out the big guns and you finally use the red underwear you bought last year. Katniss Everdeen, if you want to know _How Deep is Your Love,_ you're going to have to be _Hot Stuff_."

-o—

Katniss can't believe that Madge and Johanna have dragged her into this: singing Christina Aguilera's _Candyman_ in front of a crowd is not really her thing, despite having crooned on stage several times last year. And singing and dancing while dressed up to look like Peggy Carter – and wearing red underwear to boot – is light years outside her comfort zone. She's downed two of her three shots and can barely feel her esophagus when she sees Johanna's ex-boyfriend approaching them. She silently raises her last shot at Jo. If her roommate's narrowed eyes give anything away, it's that she's putting the _rage_ in _courage_.

Katniss turns her back to let her roommate have some privacy, but Madge drags them both up on stage so they can sing their number. Katniss feels nothing but relief when it's over and she sees Peeta striding toward her, the tight leather pants of his Ghost Rider costume making her swallow hard. She can't help throwing her arms around him like she had that day almost a year ago when he grabs her waist and swings her off the stage.

"You look terrifying," she whispers in his ear. His hair is still growing out and it tickles her lips.

"And you look good enough to eat."

She hears the laughter in his voice and can practically feel his dimples. Katniss knows she isn't going to get a better opening that that. "Oh? Well, let's go upstairs, shall we?" She gives silent thanks to Madge's make-over and whoever thought it was a good idea to give her shots to loosen her up. Peeta doesn't utter a protest and lets her lead the way to his room.

Katniss clears her throat, her bravado rapidly disappearing. "Can you take off the mask? I don't like to imagine you going up in flames."

Peeta laughs as he shuts the door, enveloping them in relative quiet compared to the party below. He pulls the mask off and runs his hands through his hair which is just barely starting to curl. "The point of the Ghost Rider outfit is the flaming skull mask."

Katniss snorts. "No, the point of the Ghost Rider costume is how great your butt looks in those pants." The instant the words are out, she clamps a hand over her mouth.

Peeta blinks in surprise then walks toward her slowly, the twinkle lights along the edge of the ceiling glinting off leather and blond hair. "You think my butt looks good in these pants?" His eyes drop to her lips and he says quietly, "I think I'd like to hear more about that."

Katniss giggles as his mouth comes closer. Frowning because Katniss never, ever giggles, he drops a light peck on her lips. "How drunk are you?"

"I've had three shots."

Peeta sighs heavily. "Let's just relax up here for a while then head back to the party." He takes off his leather jacket, jerking at his t-shirt when it threatens to ride up.

Katniss presses herself against him. "I don't want to relax." She tugs his head so his lips slide against her own glossy ones. Her hands burrow into his short curls and she makes a sound deep in her throat when she licks her way hungrily into his mouth. She can taste something hoppy and bitter on his tongue, but the sweetness of the shots she did balances it out. She sucks on his tongue until she feels his hands tremble a little at her waist. She takes that as an opportunity to skim her hands underneath his t-shirt and deepen the kiss even more, but Peeta pulls away.

"What?" She has to clear her throat to recover her voice.

"Katniss, you're drunk."

His rebuke stings. "No, I'm not. I want to touch you. You are my boyfriend, right? So why won't you let me? Peeta, talk to me," she pleads as Peeta walks past her and sits on his bed. A shiver runs through her: maybe Johanna is wrong and Peeta doesn't want more than what they have now. Maybe the pictures are his way of getting satisfaction that she just can't deliver. Her face flames at the thought and she feels like she might vomit. She pauses for a moment before diving in and saying, "I saw the pictures." Her voice is low, angry.

"What?" He looks up at her, confusion clear on his face.

"The ones on your computer. Here." She strides over to his Mac and brings up a picture of a blond guy balls deep in a petite brunette. The guy in the photo can't take his eyes off where their bodies are joined. Turning it so Peeta can see, Katniss notices that Peeta can't take his eyes off the picture. "Talk to me, Peeta. Because right now I think you'd rather look at this than actually do it with me."

Something – guilt? – leaps in his blue eyes. "Katniss, that's not true."

"Then, what is it?" She motions to the couple on screen. "Because I want _that_. As good as you make me feel, I want to make you feel good too. You stop me every time I try to touch you: I'm beginning to think that there's something wrong with me."

He looks at her sadly. "That's not true; you're amazing."

"So are you."

His shakes his head before she's even through speaking. "Well, I don't have much competition _here_."

"You don't have much competition anywhere."

She kicks off her pumps, and kneels between Peeta's legs. Wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her face against his chest, she listens for the thudding of his heart. She's never told him, but it's her favorite thing about him when she sleeps over – that steady beat that tells her he's real and that he's there for her. She's come to rely on it.

She's not sure how long they stay like that before she finds the courage to ask, "Johanna says I don't deserve you because you never ask for anything in return. Why don't you, Peeta?" It's easy to say the words with her face buried against his chest, his hands running up and down her back over and over.

A sigh shudders through him. "Because I don't look like the guy in the picture, Katniss." He scowls when she lifts her head to search his face. "I'm not nearly that…" he makes some indeterminate hand motion that might mean _hot_ or _muscular_ or even _attractive_ before he looks away and finishes, "flawless."

She thinks about how he fills out his leather pants and almost laughs, because Peeta _is_ those things. It's not just his body, either. His kindness and his sense of fairness and humor shine through. Katniss isn't sure how she missed it for so many years, but Peeta Mellark brightens up any room he enters.

Maybe he just doesn't see it?

She tugs him to his feet. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." She adds when he still hesitates, "Peeta, trust me. That's all I'm asking."

His nod is jerky, especially when her hands rest on the buttons of her brown jacket.

"I'll go first." Peeta's seen her in less, especially in Las Vegas, so it shouldn't be a big deal to go topless in front of him. This time seems different, though, less heat-of-the-moment. Her hands tremble as she unbuttons the jacket Madge has loving crafted to look like a WWII army uniform and shrugs out of it to stand in her red lace bra.

Peeta swallows hard, then bends down to untie his double-knotted shoelaces and skim off his boots. He looks nervous and uncomfortable but unbuttons the waistband of his pants and slowly slides them off until he's standing in his black boxer briefs. He shifts uneasily as Katniss quickly moves to unbutton her skirt and push it down her slim hips. He doesn't even glance at her waist cincher, garters and red lace panties. His jaw clenches, faint stubble glinting in the dim light, and then he's pulling his shirt over his head like it weighs as much as chain mail.

Katniss takes a moment to savor the pale skin he reveals and the play of muscle in his arms, shoulders, and abs. He has a smattering of chest hair that looks soft to the touch, more concentrated below his belly button as it arrows lower. His nipples are pinker than hers, almost rosy. A constellation of freckles dots on his shoulders, proof that he was not always so self-conscious.

Katniss licks her lips. "Can I touch?"

Peeta jerks his head in a nod.

She thinks it's only fair to take off her bra before she runs her hands all over his chest. His skin is soft, warm and his chest hair is slightly springy. She traces the edge of his belly button, glad it's an "innie", making his stomach muscles jump. She likes the look of him, standing there in his underwear, even if he is so tense that he won't even open his eyes, fisted hands at his side.

She shakes her head and traces a finger along his collar bone to his shoulder, then follows her fingers to stand behind him as they record a path along his shoulder blade. Her eyes drop to ogle what is arguably Peeta's best physical feature when she spies the scar. It's large with few distinct edges; the flesh looks to have melted or boiled or both. She knows he has smaller, similar scars on the inside of his arms. The pain and strength those scars represent take her breath away. His back is rigid as she skims the outline of it, and he relaxes one section at a time only as she runs her thumbs up his spine.

She uses his shoulders to hoist herself slightly so she can put her lips directly behind his ear. "No flaws here. Your butt is definitely your best feature."

He lets out a great, shuddering breath that ends in a relieved chuckle. "You think?"

She comes to stand in front of him and weaves her arms around his neck so their bare skin brushes. "Mmmm. I'd like to see it with the underwear off, though. You know. For science." She leans in and gives him another lingering kiss.

They're spread out on the bed by the time they've gotten her out of her garter belt and waist cincher and Peeta has his hands everywhere: trailing along her jaw, palming her breasts, draping one of her legs over his so she's wide open for him as he lays to her side. Katniss can't catch her breath in between kisses - especially given the way he's plucking her like a guitar. She grabs his hand to still it and pulls away from his mouth so she can look at his dark-as-midnight eyes. Every nerve in her body is humming with energy. She feels more alive than she ever has, cradled back against Peeta's warmth.

Her eyes go wide when he pulls their joined hands back to her center and whispers, "Trust me." Her eyes stay locked on his, even when his lips rest gently on hers and their breath mingles. Her fingers and his become tangled and she loses track of whose fingers dip inside, making her hips strain to take them deeper until she blossoms in waves of heat and wetness.

Peeta licks her trembling lips as she cries out.

Katniss opens her eyes to find his lips still close to hers, eyes watching her intently. Just beyond his shoulder, she can see his Mac facing the bed with the picture of their doppelgangers clearly displayed. She quakes from the aftershocks of what he's done to her. "I want you inside me."

"Katniss, are you sure?" Peeta's voice cracks with tension. At her nod, he reaches to his desk and finds a condom in a small container. He holds up the foil packet. "Do you want to…um…help? It would be a shame to let our sex-ed class go to waste."

She bites her lip to keep from smiling and rips open the packet, remembering the morning when Finn and Jo had provided the impetus for Peeta to coach her on appropriate condom application. Her smile falters a bit when Peeta slides out of his boxer briefs: he's hard and large. When he hesitates, obviously ready to call a halt, she shakes her head and reaches for him. Touching his naked skin is different than stroking him through his shorts in the shower. He's like nothing she's ever felt – both soft and hard at the same time. He startles when she touches him, a sound coming from his throat that she's never heard before. She decides she likes it, and moves her hand until he does it again.

"Katniss," he pants, "If you want to do this…" She likes the way he sounds breathless and slightly out of control. Still, she wants this. There will be time enough to enjoy hearing every sound that Peeta can make later.

She slides the latex over him, trembling a little at the thought of him inside her. She leans back and he slides between her thighs, but he doesn't get right to it.

He frowns when he strokes where she is still sensitive. "I think we might need some help," he says as he reaches between the bed and the wall and pulls out a small bottle of lube.

Katniss takes one look at the bottle – it's one of the ones from the Finn and Jo class – and giggles. What was it Jo had said the rules were for losing your virginity? Masturbate, lubricate, and penetrate? She has just enough time to think that maybe Jo knows what she's talking about after all when she hisses at the cool trail of lube Peeta pours onto her. When he rubs, little jolts of pleasure shoot through her. And when he replaces his fingers with something larger and harder, she almost forgets to tense.

Almost.

"You have to relax." Sweat gathers on Peeta's brow as his eyes narrow in concentration.

Katniss gasps as he slides inside her. It doesn't burn, not exactly, and she's thankful again that Jo suggested the lube. Peeta is big enough that she wants to sit up and back away so he's not quite so deeply nestled. She doesn't know what to think or do until Peeta stops moving. Is that it? She doesn't think so, but he's completely still above her.

She risks a look at his face, his trembling arms, his golden chest- flushed now—down his stomach to where their bodies are joined. She registers that a good deal of Peeta is not inside her, despite the fact that she feels like he's bottoming out. She wriggles a bit, trying to ease more of him inside. Surprisingly, it does seem to make a difference and her eyes go wide as she watches more of him disappear. She repeats the motion. The more she does it, the more comfortable she feels and the more she wants to move her hips. So she does, fascinated by how her tiny movements seem to make Peeta flush a deeper pink until he moans quietly. That's the sound she has been waiting for, that quiet moan that tells her that he's feeling everything she's feeling.

"Peeta, open your eyes and look at us." She kisses his lips, urging. When she sees a sliver of blue, she smiles. "There you are."

"I don't want to go too fast and miss anything."

"Then watch." She wraps one leg around his hip, changing the friction, and arches her back at the same time as she tugs his ass toward her. She thinks it will be another slow slide of gentle friction, but she's wrong. Because suddenly, Peeta's hips are flush with hers and he's buried to the hilt. She freezes as she adjusts to the impossible fullness of his entire length.

"Are you alright?" He brushes a hair back from her forehead and kisses her nose. At her slow nod, he flexes his hips and moans again at the slide of their bodies against each other. He drops his head to lick her nipple and Katniss arches to prolong the contact with his talented mouth as he suckles.

Her hands grip his hips as he finds a rhythm, eventually her legs as well. Listening to Peeta and watching his intense pleasure makes any soreness she might feel afterward worth it. She knows exactly what he means when he says he wants it to last: she'd like to freeze this moment and live in it forever.

He groans her name when he comes and she loves that too, loves that he pulls her against him after disposing of the condom and wiping them both off with personal wipes with mumbled thanks to Jo and Finn for thinking of everything. Katniss doesn't think she's ever felt as satisfied as he spoons her against his big, warm body.

"I should get you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in - unless you aren't staying?" Even Katniss can't miss the vulnerability in his question as he fiddles with her hair.

Despite her soreness and the pleasant fog she's drifting in, she opens her eyes. "I'm staying. And I don't see why we'd want to put on clothes yet." She pulls his head down for a lingering kiss, but he's already chuckling and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Katniss, we can't stay in this bed forever. You're going to be sore if you aren't already, and one of us is going to have to use the restroom." He groans as he suddenly recalls what's going on downstairs. "Anyone could have heard us. I am _so_ sorry. I really meant for our first time to be special—"

"Peeta, shut up." She takes the sting out of her words by moving his hand to her breast suggestively. When he stills at her bold display, she kisses him. "It was special because it was _you_. Now let's check out what else Jo and Finn gave us in those give-away bags."


	32. Pretend

"Madge, you're serious about these costumes?" I finger the fabric of the brown fitted jacket. It's got brass buttons, epaulets, and a matching skirt that comes to the knee. The outfit -uniform really – is by no means revealing. Hell, the brown color scheme is right up Katniss's alley.

"Totally serious. I spent a lot of time on them." Madge grins.

Katniss looks doubtful. "That's pretty obvious. But I thought Halloween costumes were supposed to be sexy? We've been practicing _Candyman_ for weeks now and I thought our costumes would be a little more in keeping with the song. These are positively parochial."

"Ladies, ladies," Madge says. "Did either of you see _Captain America_?"

 _Duh._ I bookmarked on YouTube the scene where Steve Rogers comes out of the "Americanizer" and he's all buff and half-naked. Katniss nods too because she may be pent-up, but she's not dead.

"Well, then. Didn't either of you think that Peggy Carter was amazingly hot?" Madge taps her fingers against the jacket, smoothing her fingers against the epaulet lovingly. When we don't answer, she continues. "You pair that with Katniss's voice, and the forties-appropriate underwear that we'll be wearing and I guarantee that we'll be hot."

I snort. "That's easy for you to say. You're like a forties pin-up already. I don't have your assets - you're going to look like Veronica Lake. "

Katniss asks, "Veronica who?"

"Seriously?" I shake my head. "Veronica Lake." When Katniss still looks blankly at me, I scowl incredulously. "Look her up on the internet. She's a legend. And Katniss, you'll probably look like Jane Russell if we pad your bra enough. But I'm not built like an hourglass at all."

Madge laughs. "We're not rehashing what we already discussed last year when we went lingerie shopping with Finn: your assets will be fine. Come on, Jo. You agreed to this knowing full-well that Katniss and I both want to make an impression."

"That's a nice way of saying that you want to get laid, isn't it?" I sigh. It's not their fault that I haven't had a serious boyfriend since Brian, or that I'm still haunted by a certain car ride. _Fuck._ Then I look over at Katniss: she has a boyfriend, but I have a feeling she's _still_ not getting laid. "Alright. I'm in. But you both owe me."

-o—

"Holy shit. Madge…" Katniss breathes.

"You pulled it off." I finger the lapels of the jacket that fits me like a second skin. The belt and the waist cincher I'm wearing under it give me curves in all the right places. I turn this way and that so the slight flare of the skirt swirls around my thighs, showing just a peek of thigh highs and garters. I'm more covered than I ever was while I was cheerleading, but I feel so much sexier.

Katniss looks amazing too. Madge has done her hair and makeup so she looks almost exactly like Peggy Carter from _Captain America._ Her hat is perched jauntily on her head, her lips are a shiny, kissable, cherry red. The look is so amazing that I almost feel bad for Peeta – almost. Isn't it time that he hunkered down in her foxhole?

"Of course." Madge preens. And, of course, she looks like a wet dream. Christina Aguilera herself never looked hotter. Gale is going to take one look at her in this boner-builder of an outfit and just explode. "I've confirmed that my bribe to get the song on the karaoke machine worked. We're all set. Ladies, are we ready?"

The three of us giggle and blow kisses at our sassy selves in the mirror.

"Let's go take the beach!" I breathe deeply and watch the brass buttons on my jacket move impressively.

-o—

"I'm going to need at least a shot or two to get up the nerve to do this." Katniss nervously holds her hand over her stomach. We're not so much singing karaoke as doing three part harmony. It could go amazingly well, or we could crash and burn. Who knows? I doubt a little liquid courage is going to hurt us.

I nod as well. Scoping out the competition at the annual frat Halloween party is making me nervous. Katniss and I didn't come last year, so we don't know what to expect. I notice that we're not the only girl group here, either. I spy at least one other, as well as a bunch of single performers: there's Gaga and Beyoncé and at least one Britney Spears and Will. I. Am. duo. We may be screwed, and I don't mean in a good way.

Madge nods. "Ok. Just go easy. Especially you, Jo - you sound like a rusty door hinge when you get drunk. We don't need you to be tone deaf when we get up there."

I've just tossed back 3 shots, and spied Peeta and Gale in the process, when a familiar face blocks my way.

"You know you're defacing the uniform," Brian says. He's dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, with a camera around his neck, and zinc oxide on his nose.

I haven't seen him since that night we broke up almost a year ago. Ok, that's not true: I've seen him in my dreams or sometimes in my head while I'm using the Purple Monster. Hey, the guy was a great lay, even if we didn't work out in the end. Seeing him here and knowing I'm the only one of us three girls going home alone makes me a little crazy. So I paste a smile on my face. "Better the Army uniform than the Navy, though, right? How've you been? Nice tourist get-up."

I don't want to know how he is, really, I just want this conversation over.

"Good. I've got a new girlfriend." He motions to a gorgeous blonde in a bikini who smiles at him in return. "I'm doing well in school and had a great summer in Groton."

I have to stop myself from clutching my chest. Sure, I don't really want him, but does everyone need to rub in that they're with someone? Especially someone who looks like _that_ piece of blonde perfection _?_

"There's a sub base there, right?" I have no idea how I know that, except that I may have actually listened to some of what he said during our brief relationship.

"Yeah. Hey, listen, Jo…no hard feelings, right? I'm not sure if I should apologize or not for the way things ended. I was pretty emotional."

 _Fuck._ I would rather have a root canal than have this conversation. I must make a noise that he takes as agreement.

"I still…well…I think about you sometimes. I don't want you to think I was an ass."

Uh huh. Let me de-construct that for you, ladies: when a young guy thinks about you post-break-up, what that translates to is that you're a great lay. I'm sure little Miss Butter-Won't-Melt-in-her-Mouth won't do something crazy like let him handcuff her. I'm sure it's missionary position all the way with her. His little speech has nothing to do with the actual events of our four-month relationship, and more to do with the fact that he doesn't want to feel guilty when he jerks off.

Not that I'm bitter. At least now I know that we're even.

Madge swoops in like an angel and saves me. "Come on, Jo. We're up." She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stage that's been setup in the backyard of the frat.

I down my last shot and wave at Brian as if to say, "We'll finish this later." Except that we won't, not if I can help it.

I shake it off, take a deep breath and close my eyes, wishing Finn were in the audience instead of at home on the couch with his very pregnant wife. I work better, _perform_ I guess you could say, if I have a friendly face to fixate on. I have to remind myself that this is just for fun and to get the ladies next to me laid. It has nothing to do with showing Brian that I was a good thing and that, even though the breakup was my choice, I don't miss him.

So when I open my eyes and spy Brue all the way toward the back of the yard, I start to sing just to him. Hey, it's not like he's going to notice – he's laughing at something a frat brother is saying and totally not paying attention to the stage at all. He probably doesn't even know I exist, but that smile is doing funny things to my insides.

" _Makes my panties drop,"_ indeed _._

I'm glad Madge let me choreograph the number because we spend as much time wiggling our asses – clearly my best feature – as singing and dancing facing forward. So it's a shock when the next time I spot Brue, he's staring straight at me and no longer smiling. Like he's paying attention to me and me only. Which, of course, makes me…um… _work harder_. You know, while I'm singing. And dancing. I'm pretty sure that I'm actually eye-fucking him by the last " _sweet talkin', sugar-coated, candy man"._

Ok. Maybe it's more of an eye-blowjob than an eye-fuck.

But he doesn't look like he's saying no to what I'm offering. Especially when we get off the stage to thunderous applause (which I secretly think is because Madge flashed a bit of thigh and revealed the lace at the top of her stocking) and he's right there waiting for me. He actually beats both Peeta and Gale to the stage, that's how fast he is. He's smiling in that way of his that makes me hyper-aware of how my garter belt is cupping me. I give him a breathless smile, ready to thank him profusely for just being alive, when a shadow crosses in front of us.

"Jo, we should finish talking," Brian says earnestly.

I shake my head at exactly how much he just doesn't get it. The guy was always a little one-sided when it came to talking about our relationship. I idly wonder where his girlfriend went as I look for a way out of the conversation that I especially don't want Brue witnessing.

Brian keeps talking. "I know that I hurt you, especially when I told you that you weren't wife material because you were sort of a slut. That may have been out of line."

"May have?" My reply is as dry as the Sahara, especially when I notice Brue standing next to me gaping. _Fuck._

"You have to admit that you were a little reckless." Brian smiles at me.

"No. No I wasn't. I was faithful to you until we broke up." I leave out that teeny indiscretion with Gale. That was more like a mulligan, since Brian and I were on a break from one another. "And I didn't hear you complaining."

Brian's like a dog with a bone. "Jo, you let me handcuff you. And, as hot as that is, it's not something good girls do."

Brue's eyes are as wide as saucers. It would be funny if I weren't so miserable. What would Dr. A. want me to do? I can almost hear him telling me to be my authentic self. It makes me want to laugh: my authentic self would never want Brue to hear me being weak. My authentic self would be bad-ass and defend herself.

"I had never done that before…. no. You know what? You said you wanted to apologize. Fine. I accept your apology. Now we can go back to never speaking to each other." I give them both a tight smile, turn on my heel, and walk off.

I'm especially proud when I make it to the upstairs bathroom before the first tear falls.

When the knock comes, I'm dabbing at my eyes so that my mascara doesn't smudge. I'm fairly sure it's Brian and I just don't have it in me for another conversation like the one downstairs. I yell out that the bathroom's occupied on the off chance it's just someone wanting to use the facilities.

"Jo, let me in." Brue's voice comes through the door and I grip the vanity so hard my knuckles turn white. Is this whole night just full of suckage or what? What's next? Zombies?

When I don't answer, he repeats himself. "Let me in. I'm not leaving until you do."

I make sure my makeup looks fine, click the lock open, and then step back in the small space to make room. I'm not even sure both of our personalities will fit, that's how small this bathroom is.

He comes in and looks me over quietly. He doesn't ask how I am, doesn't offer any pity: he just stands there. Finally, he reaches out and touches the lapel of my jacket gently and says, "I just…I wanted to tell you that you look amazing."

I don't take the compliment well. The inner Johanna, the one that Dr. A. wants me to reveal more of, almost snarls at him, "Look, I'm having a bad night: my ex-boyfriend wants to keep re-hashing our breakup and I haven't fucked anything that isn't battery powered since the spring. So I really, really don't want to talk right now." I turn away from him but his eyes hold mine in the mirror.

"You haven't?" One of Brue's eyebrows arches inquisitively.

"What?" I lean forward on the vanity and break eye contact. Can't he just go away?

"Fucked anyone since the spring."

It's weird to hear him swear, because it's not something he does. At least, not around me. I know what he's asking, though. He's asking if I've fucked anyone since _him._

My answer is raw. "No." I close my eyes. Could this night get any worse?

I almost miss the first whisper of fabric as his fingertips glide my skirt up my thighs. I snap open my eyes to find him grinning at me in the mirror as his hands bunch the fabric. He winks at me. "Let me help you with that, then."

I gape at him, too stunned to move, even when he drops his eyes to my cherry-clad ass.

"Mmm. Cherries on your underwear _and_ a garter belt?" I watch him in the mirror eyeing me. Any other night, any other situation, I might think this is awkward. But not tonight. Tonight I feel a rush of heat and wetness, especially as he traces a finger lightly from the bottom of my garter to the lower edge of my underwear. My heart drums heavily and I can sense his fingers as they linger just below where I really want them.

His pupils are already fat as his sapphire eyes meet mine in the mirror. If anything could make me wetter, it's those eyes expressing honest interest. "Do you want me to stop, Jo?"

His question should snap me back to reality: I'm in a bathroom at a frat house, with a guy I'm not sure I can trust with how emotionally raw I feel right now. But Brue has never hurt me, not really, not when it comes to sex, and I want to feel close to someone right now. Tomorrow can take care of itself.

"No." I shudder and grip the counter harder when his fingers ghost under the elastic to find me. They aren't gently searching, no. One finger slides right inside me and I hiss, pushing back against it.

"Spread for me." He nudges my legs apart further so he can glide another finger alongside the first. He eases them in and out; I hear them moving wetly and it just makes me push against him harder. His other hand grips my hip tightly as my shifting clothes rub in a delicious way.

"I want to be inside you." He wiggles his fingers, then surprises me by dropping a kiss on the nape of my neck. "Hang on a second." He withdraws and my skirt falls back into place as if the last few minutes never happened.

I drop my head to the counter and breathe heavily. "What are you doing?"

"We keep a stash of condoms in here, thank God," he says as he opens a couple of cabinets. It's obvious this isn't his normal routine.

Is it mine? Maybe Brian is right and I am a slut: I'm about to have sex in a bathroom during a party. What does that make me? _Hungry_ , I realize as I check out Brue's ass in his jeans as he bends over. Brue turns to face me with a triumphant grin and a foil packet in his hand. He must read something on my face because his grin slips and he's by my side in a second.

"Stop thinking. Whatever it is, let it go." His eyes search mine then drop to my lips as he takes my hand in his and slides it along the bulge in the front of his jeans.

Fuck _._ He's completely hard. I have a second for that information to sink in before his lips are on mine. It's not a gentle kiss, and it's not one where he plunders me with tongue, making my jaw hurt. It's a hot, wet kiss with insistent lips and a bit of tongue that leaves me wanting more. He tastes like beer; sharp and crisp. I nip his bottom lip, that cleft that is so fascinating, while I tug the button of his jeans open and run my hands inside. His skin is smooth for the water polo season and I almost wish for the crisp feel of hair against my fingers before I grip him.

"I can't take my time tonight," he breaks our kiss and breathes apologetically as I stroke him. His hand grabs my wrist and twirls me around. I hear foil rip and his intake of breath as cool, lubricated latex meets his skin. My curious eyes meet his in the mirror as his hands lift my skirt and ease my panties out of the way.

He rubs me with his fingers while his breath ghosts against my neck. It sends shivers down my spine as he kisses just below my ear and sucks my earlobe gently. He tugs my leg until it's propped up and I'm spread wide for him. He strokes himself against me once, twice… I can't take my eyes off of us in the mirror; we're totally clothed, demure even. Yet I can feel him parting me, the tip of him almost penetrating me in the most delicious way despite the view. I'm transfixed. He slides a hand under the front of my skirt and panties, splaying his hand to brace and guide me as he moves deeper. He groans.

I gasp, eyes wide as I watch his in the mirror. His other hand follows the first, helping to hold me while he starts long, strong strokes. I wish I could see. It's maddening to know what's going on but not be able to see it. I feel him inch by inch inside me while his fingers toy with me and hold me apart below my skirt.

He whispers in my ear, "You're gripping me again. That kills me. I can't last long when you do that." He punctuates his statement with a harder thrust that pushes us toward the mirror. I counter with a wiggle against him. If he keeps talking like this, I'm not going to last long either.

"How about this?" I flirt as I brace myself on the counter and lean forward, knowing that angle will drive him deeper and make him wild.

He nips my ear in punishment. "I'm too close and that will finish me of. Just…just watch us."

"But there's nothing to watch." My eyes flash my frustration. I want to watch something that matches the feel of skin on skin. But this? This is like British porn.

He sucks my ear lobe into his mouth and laves it with his tongue. A shiver runs through me and a new rush of wetness meets him as his hips move flush with mine. I lower my hands into his jeans and grip his hips closer.

"There isn't? Watch us, Jo. What do you see?" He blows gently on the sensitive spot behind my ear.

I shake my head. Nothing. I see nothing.

He sucks lightly where my neck meets my shoulder before his eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Let me tell you what I see." His hips slide wetly away and back again while his fingers cup and stroke to enhance the sensation. "You're starting to flush. I bet that means you're close." He punctuates that word with a circling of fingers that has me clenching him inside me. He groans. "Your breath hitches when I move my hips like this. I think that means you like it. What do you have on underneath that jacket? More cherries? The fact that I can't tell is driving me wild. " He pushes harder inside me and I swear he feels bigger with each stroke. "I want to last so that I can watch you in the mirror. I love that we look completely dressed but your eyes are wild. Your eyes are a complete giveaway to how much you like me inside of you. I wish I could move my hands to peel that jacket off of you, but I like where they are. I like feeling how wet you are. I could stay like this forever."

He moves those very, very talented fingers again and my hands clutch and scrape at his hips. I need him to move faster. As he's talking to me, I _do_ notice that my breath is coming faster. My lips are wet, moistened by my tongue, and my cheeks are flushed. My eyes, though…he's right. They're almost feral.

And then I pick up on the fact that his are flashing like jewels. He has sweat at his temples and his flush is as visible as mine: he's just as close as I am. In this moment, he wants this as much as I do. Suddenly, I don't want to wait. I want him to watch me as I come apart and I want to watch him too.

We both still for a second as our hands explore what our eyes can't see. His eyes meet mine in the mirror and cling. Suddenly, it's a race to see who can make the other let go first and we each pull out any trick we know to get the other there.

I think I'm doing a great job when I feel a tremor rock his hips. He notices my triumphant smile in the mirror.

"Not…so fast…Jo," he breathes. "Ladies… first."

I shake my head, my grin daring him to get me there before my grinding makes him lose control. He's even more flushed – it's traveled down his neck to his chest. I wish for a second that he were naked so that I could see how far it goes.

"Ok," he breathes and shifts his hips. I gasp as he hits a spot inside me that I love, suddenly glad he's holding me upright. His hips move faster, rubbing that spot with shallow strokes. I would hiss, but my mouth is stuck in an "o" of surprise.

What does me in, though, is the flashing in his eyes when he leans close to my ear and whispers a hot play by play of how he's going to clean me once he comes inside me. He breathes suggestion after suggestion - they are so shocking coming from Brue that I lock on to the shallow thrusting and nimble fingers as I listen to him.

We come apart together.

-o—

We straighten our clothes afterward and I can't even meet Brue's eyes. I want to thank him for somehow giving me back my smile and for redeeming what was turning out to be a horrible night. Sure, I'm confused as to why he followed me up here. I'm not going to lie - it was hot enough that it's already an express deposit into my spank bank. At least I feel wanted by someone.

He waits by the door quietly until I stop fidgeting with my clothing. "Ready to face the masses again?"

I meet his eyes and nod. I can't help the smile on my face and a strange look crosses his when he sees it. He leaves the door for a second and slides a hand behind my neck. This kiss, when it comes, is hard and leaves me as breathless as the answering smile he wears.

"Love that smile," he says, squeezing my hand and pulling me, un-resisting, out the door.

-o—

I'm feeling calmer and more refreshed after a twenty mile run the next day. That thing with Brue didn't have to mean a thing, right? So what if it's happened twice now? I mean, sure, it's happened a bunch more in my fantasies, but no one has to know that. He must like rescuing damsels in distress because he's only accessible when I'm at rock-bottom. The memory of last night and how he sounds when he moans has me briefly pondering the idea of cultivating more low-points in my life. Yeah. That's how good it was.

I shake myself out of it, of course. What am I, some freaking pansy? Some Barbie who can't take care of herself? No. I'm Johanna Mason, Bad-Ass Extraordinaire. I don't need some guy to take care of me in any way: not even when his fingers can take me from "friendly wave" to "gripping the edge of the countertop while I moan his name" in less than ten seconds.

The only explanation is that he had an itch at the same time I had an itch. We both needed to scratch, that's all. Brue probably likes to feel all manly and needed or some macho bullshit like that. And I might, _might_ periodically like feeling wanted. It was a passing thing; a momentary weakness.

I tear open the door to the frat house, ready to study for midterms and eat whatever amazing meal Peeta is going to make us, but the house is oddly silent for a Saturday afternoon.

"Hello?" I call on my way back to the kitchen. The _empty_ kitchen. There's not a dirty pan in sight and no fresh baked goods grace a single surface. Was there a fucking gas leak overnight?

I pull my ear buds out just in time to witness Gale uncharacteristically clomping down the stairs: he winces with every footfall, as if his ears can't handle any noise. He slides into a chair and gingerly puts his head on the table.

"What's going on? Where's Peeta?" I drop my backpack and Katniss's messenger bag that I've brought with me on the table with a loud thunk, grinning at Gale's obvious wince.

"Don't know. Can you not talk so loud?"

I heave an exasperated sigh and pour a cup of water into a leftover red Solo cup. I drink it down, then hand Gale aspirin and a cup of his own. I don't change my volume at all when I ask, "Where's Madge? It's late and I thought we were all going to study."

He takes the aspirin gratefully and swallows them dry. "Jo, not everyone is an early riser like you. Madge went back to the dorm to change clothes - you know she doesn't like to shower here. She says it's like bathing in a toilet bowl."

He and Madge have had a couple of arguments about that during our dinners. Gale, of course, wants her to stay, but Madge prefers a level of cleanliness that requires a full time housekeeper. She's certainly not going to find _that_ in a frat house bathroom. Come to think of it, I'm pretty glad I only touched the counter last night. I make a mental note to look into a tetanus booster shot. As for the early riser comment: I know for a fact that Peeta gets up earlier than I do, even on frat party nights.

"Somehow I doubt that you had trouble _getting up early_ for the lovely Madge, _Kitten._ Is that what has you so exhausted? I bet Mistress Madge kept you pleading for more all night long."

He glares at me, but seems to quickly decide that is too much work. "That's none of your business."

I gesture vaguely to his neck. "It is when you've got something that's either a bruise or a hickey as visible as that one."

His hand flies to his neck while his face goes up in flames and he pushes his chair back from the table so quickly that it squeaks.

He's halfway down the short hallway to the bathroom when I let him in on the joke. "Gotcha! You should know that Madge never leaves a mark."

His face is thunderous when he returns. "You are a bitch, you know that?" he says before striding to the stairs and bellowing, "Brue! Your girlfriend is here!" Gale crosses his arms across his chest and watches me smugly.

I'm sure he notices that the self-satisfied grin on my face disappears. I hope that I'm able to hide exactly how much those words sting – like a Brazilian bikini wax for my heart. "I'm not his girlfriend."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, still wearing that self-satisfied look that tells me he knows he scored a bulls-eye.

"I'm not!" I insist. The sting mellows to a dull ache that makes me want to rub my chest. I don't want to be obvious, though, especially at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, so I grab my backpack and make a show of unpacking books, headphones, and my laptop.

"Hey," Brue says, oblivious to the tension between me and Gale. He crosses to the fridge and grabs a Gatorade. Come to think of it, that would probably help Gale's head as well.

"Hey." I'm glad he can't see my face because I can't tear my eyes away from where his worn jeans hang on his hips. I gripped those hips like a lifeline last night. I remember scraping my fingernails along the tight skin of his ass, urging him to quicken the pace. To go deeper.

I wonder if I left marks.

Gale has some inkling of what I'm thinking because he says cheerfully, "I'm gonna go ahead and leave you two alone. I bet you have a lot to talk about."

I mumble something so vicious that he chuckles.

"What was that all about?" Brue asks.

I watch Gale slink back to his lair, wishing I hadn't given him the aspirin: he deserves to suffer. "Gale's just being a prick, as usual."

"Did you already go for a run?" He looks disappointed when I nod. "Then I guess it really is time to hit the books. Let me go grab mine."

I've got my ear buds in, blasting Bachman Turner Overdrive's _Taking Care of Business_ so that I can feel the baseline in my teeth by the time he returns. He tugs on one to get my attention. "You know you'll go deaf if you listen to music that loud. What is it?" He leans over to check out the playlist and lets out low whistle. "Going old-school?"

I stick out my tongue before grabbing the ear bud and jamming it back in my ear. "You know the saying: If it's too loud, you're too old?" I feel his laugh clear to my toes even though I can barely hear it. His smile, though? _That_ I feel in my gut, which growls in protest of his hotness, or maybe from extreme hunger: it's hard to tell. I resist crossing my arms in front of my tummy the second time I feel the tell-tale rumble.

Brue tugs at my ear buds again. "Are you hungry?" When I shake my head, he smiles and bumps my shoulder. "Come on, Jo, I can hear your stomach from here." He rises from his chair and crosses to a cabinet. "You want some banana bread? I made it this morning."

I lean back in my chair. " _You_? Made banana bread?"

He selects a knife and cocks an eyebrow in my direction. "Yeah. Surprised?"

Two seconds later, I have a slab of banana bread in front of me. It has oats and chia seeds in it and seems more like a health food than the comfort-loaf that Peeta would make. But it's moist and tasty all the same. I inhale a slice and he puts another in its place without a word.

"Not bad, huh? I substituted some flax meal for some of the flour. It adds protein and fiber." He takes a bite.

My piece stops it's trajectory to my mouth. "You're a little old man in a young guy's body, aren't you? We're not even twenty yet. Who cares about fiber?" His eyes darken and a flush covers his cheekbones. I have to lay the slice of bread down so I don't drop it, because all I can picture suddenly is the way his eyes had met mine in the mirror last night: the flush is the same, as are his bedroom eyes. I can't look away.

He finishes chewing and leans across me to pick up my forgotten slice. I can smell the blend of shampoo and soap and the remnants of chlorine that make up his unique scent. It takes all of my willpower not to grab his shirt and run my hands under it and up his chest, or grab his hair and tug him toward me for a kiss.

He gives a small shrug as he wraps the leftovers. "You didn't have a problem with my body last night. You don't want it? Your loss."

Somehow, I don't think we're talking about banana bread anymore.

"Hey, you guys. Peeta and Katniss aren't back yet? I thought for sure they'd be back. I'm starved."

I tear my eyes away from his as Madge slams into the kitchen. "Back? Where'd they go?"

"They said something about going for a hike in Griffith Park. Is that banana bread?" She eyeballs where my abandoned piece sits on the counter. When Brue nods in answer to her cocked eyebrow, she happily flounces down at the table next to me. "It's amazing how hungry putting together Annie's shower has made me." She takes a big bite and closes her eyes as she chews.

"Don't get too excited about the bread - it's not Peeta's." I cross to the stairs and yell, "Kitten, Madge is here!"

Brue ruefully shakes his head. I'm not sure if it's the dig about the bread or my taunt for Gale until he asks, "Why do you need to goad him? Can't you two just knock it off for two seconds? Madge, back me up here: being around Jo and Gale feels like babysitting half the time."

"I'd tell her to quit it, but it would be wasted breath." Madge daintily cleans the crumbs from her hands before sending him a level glance. "Besides, I've learned that I like it when Gale is all riled up and feisty."

I crow in triumph at Brue's shock as Gale comes into view, flipping me off before kissing Madge soundly.

 _Euww_.

"Gale, do you know when Peeta and Katniss are getting back?" Madge asks him after she catches her breath. "We're all hungry."

Gale frowns at his black tank watch as he realizes how late in the day it's become. "I thought they'd be back by now. Let's give it fifteen more minutes before we fend for ourselves."

I can tell he's already planning a search and rescue mission, so I butt in. "What do you guys have in the house, anyway? If we're cooking, we have to have the right tools." I have firsthand knowledge that Peeta can practically take a piece of gum, a shoelace, and some paper towels and make a dinner that will make us weep. Sure, Brue's banana bread was good, despite what I said to him. But we're going to need some serious help to put together anything that is in the ballpark of what we're used to from Peeta.

Gale's scoping out the contents of the fridge when I hear laughter that has me almost swooning: Peeta and Katniss are back.

"…I told you, it's edible!" Katniss laughs.

Peeta's reply is indistinct, but I hear Katniss shriek again.

Shriek. Katniss.

Yeah.

That's my first fucking clue.

By the time they've made it into the kitchen, I'm waiting as patiently as someone who's starving can. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Peeta's laughing quietly at Katniss, hands on her waist. His smile, dimples flashing, is warm as he gazes at her, his skin is luminous. Peeta has transcended a level of hotness to a whole new plane of existence that only puppies, kittens, and unicorns understand. And Katniss? She's glowing as well, not even putting up a fuss when he pulls her back hard against his body to wrap his arms around her middle and nuzzle her neck. As a matter of fact, her smile doesn't slip in the slightest and – I swear – she actually cuddles into his body like she's shrugging on a comfortable bathrobe.

My eyes narrow as I take it all in: the body language, the laughter, the total lack of any sort of tension. If I didn't know better, I would swear that Peeta's flaming arrow of love finally penetrated her body armor.

"Peeta and I took a hike." Katniss threads her fingers between his and glances up at him. The look they share is so adorably sweet that I swear a tooth fairy was just born.

"Katniss showed me that the inner bark of pine trees is edible. I wouldn't have suspected." He chuckles and drops a kiss on the top of her head, nuzzling her hair like public displays of affection are old hat for them.

"Catnip is all sorts of brilliant at knowing what's edible in the woods, but you'll find more spruce than pine in these parts. Speaking of which, we're all hungry. What's for dinner?" Gale asks.

Peeta looks surprised. "Oh, whatever you guys want, I guess."

What? Peeta is always the man with a plan when it comes to food. Always.

I watch in amazement as he maneuvers into a chair and tugs Katniss onto his lap. She goes with zero resistance. It's not until she leans back and gives him a quick kiss that I put the pieces together. "Oh my God. You boned!" I blurt. They ignore me, although I can see Katniss's back stiffen especially when I add, "How the fuck did I miss this?"

Gale coughs, "You were playing hide the claymore with Brue."

"What's a claymore?" Madge asks.

Brue walks to my side and grins wolfishly. "It's a two-handed Scottish long-sword."

There's a pause in the conversation as that sinks in. In the ensuing quiet, I can feel the blush working up my neck to my cheeks, especially as Brue continues to invade my personal space.

"You and Brue are –" Katniss gapes.

I break eye contact with the bane of my existence and mimic her, "You and Peeta are…"

"So now that we know everyone is finally getting some, can we get back to what really matters for a second? What are we having for dinner?" Gale asks.

Peeta nuzzles Katniss, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. I want to grab the two of them and demand that they focus on the problem at hand. Frankly, though, Katniss has experience with being hungry so she probably doesn't care. And Peeta looks like all he needs is the air he breathes and to love her. He couldn't have picked a worse time to give up his dream of being the next Gordon Ramsey.

"Madge? What about you?" Gale turns to her, correctly interpreting that we aren't going to get any help from Katniss and Peeta.

Madge lifts one elegant shoulder. "Sorry, Kitten. My family has a cook."

Brue nods apologetically. "Same here. I found the banana bread recipe on the 'net."

I briefly wonder if he found it on Good Housekeeping. The image has me torn between laughing and scrubbing my tongue, even as he leans forward and blocks out the rest of the room. My heart pounds. I'm not sure if it's his closeness or the idea of double-fiber in my diet.

"You know it was good," he says quietly and winks.

Somehow, I doubt he's talking about the banana bread. Again.

"Right. Johanna. Looks like it's you and me on chow prep."

My eyes fly to Gale's: there's no way that I've heard him right.

He raises and eyebrow. "What? Those two look gooier than a chocolate lava cake, and Madge and Brue don't know how to boil water. So we either work together, or we wait until we're all so hungry that we kill each other off one at a time until there's only one winner. And that winner will _still_ have to cook. You and me can pair up and save the day."

I nod when I realize he's right. Hey, unnatural times require unnatural acts.

Gale and I work quickly, pulling various things from the refrigerator and cupboards. Katniss heads to the restroom while Brue and Madge set the table. I'm busy wrapping SuperPretzels around hot dogs when Peeta finally speaks up.

"You know you're supposed to keep those frozen." He gestures to the SuperPretzel box with a shudder. Like he's allergic to hot pretzels that come from a box and that's somehow my problem.

I aim the knife I'm working with directly at him. "Look, Love Muffin, you do not get to have an opinion. Unless you're willing to take over? Yeah, I didn't think so. We've got everything handled down here. Why don't you two head upstairs and we'll call you when dinner's ready." It's bad enough that I've joined forces with Gale. But to have Peeta supervise just makes it worse.

There's a hushed discussion when Katniss returns. Ultimately, though, I think Peeta's not ready to watch Gale and I desecrate his favorite room. The two of them disappear while Gale and I finish up. Brue takes one look at the spread and insists on adding a bagged salad to the mix mumbling something about vegetables being required for good nutrition.

Like I care about good nutrition? Dinner is hot, edible, and ready – that's good enough for me in almost every situation.

Gale calls "Everlark" to the table to join the rest of us when the oven buzzer dings. "What do you call this?" Peeta gazes in horrified fascination at the slightly salty, baked pretzel-enrobed hot dogs that I'm drowning in creamy Velveeta Shells and Cheese. Brue puts a salad alongside where just the tip of the hot dog peaks out from the glorious mess and slides it down the table.

"Pig in a blanket having a wet dream." Even Gale's jaw drops at that description and I feel compelled to defend it as I pick up my fork, "What? Would you rather I call it 'cock in the wet spot'? Now shut up and eat."

-o—

Katniss helps me wash up while Peeta has some sort of dessert crisis: like he's figured out that Gale and I can just as easily wreck dessert as dinner and he's terrified to put us to the test. While he's pulling something out of the refrigerator and mumbling to himself like the crazy scientist we know and love, I lean in and ask, "So? Did you guys manage to get Peeta's monster truck jammed into your compact parking space?"

Katniss nods. I'm pretty sure she won't be able to talk, what with all of the heat being generated by her blush, but she does. "How's Annie?"

I give her a snide look. "Ah. You want to thank me and Finn in person? Not necessary. Finn says she's tired: he wanted to come tonight since he missed last night's festivities, but she's just too exhausted."

"Won't be long now."

"Yeah."

We're both quiet for a minute. If I ever imagined one of my friends getting caught with a pregnancy and married off, I never would have pictured it being Finn. She must have a similar thought because she asks, "Jo, how hard was it to get on the pill?"

"You and Peeta want to ride bareback? You know, sometimes a saddle can make riding a big horse easier."

She kicks my foot and looks around guiltily, "Keep your voice down! No, I just, well, I'd rather be doubly sure. You know."

I do. It's not the entire reason that I'm not banging the entire Trojan Marching Band drum line, but it does impact me more than I'd ever admit. "Make an appointment at the Health Center and I'll go with you."

"Thanks." Her smile is small.

Peeta pulls something buttery-fragrant out of the oven. I breathe in the scent: it smells like home. "These are going to take a few minutes to cool." Everyone but Peeta pulls out books. He takes a small notebook out instead and sketches something quickly.

"Aren't you studying?" I ask him.

"What?" He frowns and adds some bullet points to the margin. "Oh, uh, no. Not tonight."

"Midterms are coming up. Are you sure?" I can't imagine how he isn't under a ton of homework. Since starting my major classes this semester, I feel like I'm barely keeping up. I know he's taking calculus too, because he's in my class.

He sounds distracted when he says, "Yeah, I'm fine."

He gets up and plates what look to be some sort of filled croissant thing that he garnishes with a drizzle of chocolate sauce. Peeta frowns and makes more notes as Brue spears the puff and gets rewarded with a burst of dark purple that shoots high enough he has to wipe his hand. Taking a cautious poke, I get a small piece separated and lift it to my mouth. It's puff pastry, warm and buttery. There's chocolate there, too, something so dark that it smells like midnight on the night of a new moon, and it's complemented with something sweet and juicy, some berry that would make my teeth hurt if I were eating it alone. There's something else: earthy and less sweet than the berry, it adds depth.

"You need wine with this. Something white, I think, to lighten it up. What's that…thing? At the end? That taste?"

Peeta grins at me like I just told him he hit Katniss's G Spot. "You caught that? It's lavender."

Brue's scraping his fork on the plate in a move that would get him stabbed through the hand by my dad if we were at my house. "I don't care what it is. Can I have another one?"

Peeta slides another one onto Brue's plate. "I was thinking that I might try to brew something like it."

Gale is surprisingly thoughtful when he asks, "Something dark? Like a Guinness?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah."

"Ease back on the sweet, though. You don't want anything close to this." I point to my plate.

"Jo's right. Something lighter and smooth." I'm too stunned to process the compliment before Gale turns and asks, "Catnip, what do you think? Blueberry rather than blackberry?"

Katniss frowns. "I'm not really good at this blending flavors thing. Maybe blueberry? Cranberry?"

Peeta shakes his head. "Too tart. I want something to brighten the dark chocolate with a fruity finish."

"Then just don't use a bunch. Keep it subtle, you know? Nobody likes fruit-flavored beers. And maybe swap the lavender for rose hips? They're more citrus-y and could liven it up," Gale counters, like he and Peeta have swapped recipes forever.

Peeta makes a bunch more notes, like Gale's hit a nerve. He's still at it when Katniss and I finish clearing the plates and she kisses him. "Do you want me to stay?"

Suddenly it's very crowded and I have to take a powder. I mean, so what if she's wearing an expression of such intensity that I'm stunned the table hasn't erupted into flames yet? Good for her. Good for them. I tell myself that I'm only uncomfortable because she's never really been one for public displays of affection as I run cold water on my wrists and wipe my face with a cool towel. It has nothing to do with the fact that she's staying and I'm not.

"I'm heading out." I grab my stuff when I return to the table.

Gale shoots me a surprised look but I ignore it. When he's the only one who seems to even acknowledge my words, I can't get out of there fast enough.

"Jo? Jo, wait up." Brue's hand on my shoulder stops me before I hit the steps that lead to freedom. "You really bolted. I didn't even get a chance to say anything." he says as he drops his hand and stuffs it in his back pocket. He sounds hurt or at least confused. I'm sure I could tell which if I could actually look him in the face. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on his shoes.

"Yeah, well, it's easier to study in my room. Quieter." I know I'm bungling this. I'm sure that Madge or Annie would be flirtatious and maybe try to keep his interest alive. But me? I can't be bothered. If he wanted me to stay, he's going to have to give me some indication that I'm not pushing myself somewhere I'm not wanted.

He literally takes a small step back at those words, like he can't wait to put more distance between us.

I find some courage and screw on a smile, even though my stomach is tied in a knot so tight that I'm sure I'll throw up a sweater when I get back to the dorm. "How about we go for a run tomorrow?"

He sounds relieved when he says, "Yeah, sure. Normal time?"

I nod and take off down the stairs. My stomach calms the further away from the house I get and I feel almost normal by the time I'm at the Hoover and Adams cross-street. That's when I look back to find Brue still standing on the steps, watching. His small wave has me immediately spinning around in surprise, but not before I answer it with one of my own.

-o—

It's a week later when I hear a brogue-laden yell pierce the air over The Chili Peppers version of _Superstition_ as I just begin my run. I look around for the source before spotting the giant that is Angus MacLeod beyond the fence that rims the swim stadium.

I yank my ear buds out and motion to him and the pool beyond. The water churns with the twenty or so bodies doing furious laps. "Angus? What are you doing here? Parents' Weekend isn't for a few more weeks you know," I chide.

He crosses to the fence and rolls his eyes at the jibe. "Lass, I'm watching my grandson practice. It's normally closed to the public, but I made a small donation so they let me in whenever I can get away from work." He winks at me, like a wily, Scottish Santa Claus. "What about ye?"

"Just out for a run." I gesture to my shorts and tank top.

He bangs on the fence, which has me jumping. "Ye should come in!"

I think that's a terrible idea: just knowing that Brue is less than two hundred feet away wearing nothing but tiny nut-huggers makes me sweat. Angus makes a big show of opening the gate and waving to the coach that I'm with him, so it's not like I can refuse. Plus, what's the phrase? _Never try to bullshit a bullshiter?_ I'm pretty sure that Angus would see through all of my excuses and hone in on the fact that dreaming about Brue is keeping me awake way more nights than I would like to admit.

I heave a sigh and give up gracefully, flopping down on the metal bleachers. "How've you been, Angus?"

His shrewd eyes take in my ultra-casual pose. "Elizabeth and I are well. Which ye would know if ye hadn't stopped writing, lass."

"Things have gotten busy." It's not really a lie: my classes are keeping me busier than ever, my sessions with Dr. A are still happening, and I'm still running. Add in things like Annie's shower, and there's not a lot of extra time. Of course, it might have to do with the fact that I can't quite fathom what to say to Angus, knowing that I've had his grandson both under me and behind me. I certainly don't want him ferreting out that I would do it again in a heartbeat. "Plus, you and Elizabeth are coming to Parents' Weekend, right?"

He chuckles. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm looking forward to seeing your friend and his new baby. Has his wife delivered yet?"

Annie hasn't popped…yet. We had our small baby shower for her during the week and she looks wiped out.  
"She's not sleeping all that comfortably, so Finn's on the couch. She can't wait."

"I remember that: Elizabeth was so cranky that she practically made me sleep in the driveway. It sounds like it could be any day now. Do ye have a gift ready?"

"We already had a shower for her."

He frowns and shakes his head. "No! A _handsel_. It's customary for the babe to receive a gift of silver upon their birth." He pats his pockets for a moment, then pulls out a coin. "Here. Take this silver dollar and, when your friend delivers, give it to the wee one for protection."

"Protection?" I twirl the coin around my fingers.

He rubs his eyes like he's exhausted trying to communicate with me. "Protection. We used to think babes could be cursed by the evil eye. Now…well…now we could all use need someone or something extra looking out for us, eh?"

He's got a point there, so I tuck the coin in with my student ID and the picture of Carys I still carry with me.

"I hear you've been seeing more of my grandson? I knew you would suit."

He says it so casually that I almost miss the question there. I hope I was already flushed from running, or Angus might get an idea of exactly _how much_ I've seen of Brue. I wonder idly what he's heard because he certainly hasn't heard anything from me on the subject. Good thing the old man is a talker, though, because he doesn't even slow down when I don't answer.

"Elizabeth and I throw a Christmas party every year for our friends, associates, and kin. It's traditional Scottish dress, food, drink – all of it. Elizabeth knocks herself out every year in the planning. I know she would love to have ye. And my rascal of a grandson would also, I ken, even if it wouldna occur to him to ask you himself." He mumbles something that sounds like _he only asks the ones he doesn't really want._

A Christmas party? I'm sure that Angus knows how to throw one hell of a party. And I won't lie and say the thought of Brue in a kilt doesn't get the butterflies in my stomach all aflutter. "I'd love to come, but I'm probably home on Christmas Break then."

He pats my knee with one giant, ruddy hand. "Orange County isna that far. I'll make sure ye get an invitation."

I smile in thanks because it really is a nice gesture. And since Finn won't be coming home to the O.C. this Christmas, the break will probably be boring as hell. Even the probability that Katniss is going to be there won't help the monotony of hanging out with my brothers.

A whistle blows and there's a bunch more splashing followed by a disturbance in the Force that I know must be Brue MacLeod walking toward us. "Grandda! Jo?"

I have never before been as thankful for a robe as I am when he comes to a stop in front of me. I nod in greeting, correctly interpreting his surprise at seeing me. "Hey. Angus called me over. I hope that's okay? I was just going to head out for a run," I stammer like an idiot and fumble with my ear buds before getting to my feet.

"I'll catch you later, then." He smiles at me as he pulls off his swim cap and runs his fingers through his hair. There's an odd silence as we eyeball each other.

I break eye contact with Brue only to find Angus watching the two of us with a decided twinkle. _That wily old goat._ I'm not sure what he's got up his sleeve, but that look tells me there's something.

"I'm so glad these old bones got to see ye practice. It's such a pleasure to see ye in the water that I wish I could find more time to do it. Speaking of which…Brue, son, I spoke with yer Da. He's going to come to parent's weekend. Isna that great news? He'll get to spend some time with ye and meet yer friends."

Brue's smile quickly disappears. "Are you sure? He said the same thing last year."

"I made sure his calendar is clear. He'll be there," Angus vows.

"Sounds like you two have a lot to talk about, so I'm going to head out. Brue, I'll see you later. Angus, it's always a pleasure." I give an awkward wave as I ease my way down the bleachers and out of the gate.

Angus calls out, "Lass, don't be a stranger, and don't forget what I about the gift; it's tradition."


	33. Battle Lines

Katniss breathes a huge sigh as she sits down by the fire pit behind the frat. I can tell she's exhausted because she pulls out her braid and actually starts running her fingers through her hair, something she does only when she's exhausted or emotionally strung out.

"You alright?" I ask.

She nods. "Just recovering. Peeta's still cleaning up."

I'm pretty sure she means that he needs some alone-time after the shock his system took today. I mean, it's not every day that you're excited to see your father and get surprised by the fact that he brought a lesser demon with him.

Let me recap: Peeta's parents came to Parents' Weekend. Both of them. Mrs. Fucking Mellark came to our campus, looking about as happy to see Peeta as he was to have her. I bet the only person happy to have her in L.A. was Satan, who probably threw a party once he realized she was gone from hell for the weekend. Sure, Mr. Mellark hugged Peeta more times than I could count today, but every single one was counteracted by his witch of a mother looking like she wanted to throttle him.

And her snide comments about Katniss? Yeah, I was about done with those, too. Was it any wonder that I caught Katniss and Peeta having an out-and-out debate over whether they should hold hands when they walked into the frat house? Like those clenched fucking hands would make the difference between life and death.

"What was up with you and the hand holding thing? I mean, I get that Mrs. Mellark probably didn't appreciate it, but was it really worth a full on discussion?"

Katniss stares at me for a second and then looks at the fire. "I didn't want to get Peeta in trouble."

"So then why do it?" Because they _had_ grasped hands like the only thing between them and certain death was that connection, and Mrs. Mellark had passed a fucking kitten when she saw it. She had demanded Peeta join her and Mr. M. in the kitchen and help with dinner prep. This, despite the fact that Peeta had done all of the work for the braised pork adobo before they arrived.

"He said he wanted to show her we're together."

I snort. "Like that wasn't apparent enough this summer?" I thought it was pretty obvious when the two of them were busy mooning over each other through the bakery's front window. Isn't that why Mrs. Mellark had Peeta working as many shifts as possible over the summer? To keep them apart? Well, that and the probability that he's the cheapest labor she's got. The woman's a real peach.

Madge butts in from across the fire pit. "I think maybe Peeta wanted to show his parents that he's an adult who can make his own choices."

"I'm not sure that worked," Gale says as he rubs Madge's cold hands between his own. "Wasn't she screeching about how Katniss was a bad influence and how she would pull him out of school if his grades didn't improve? Seems like all he did was poke the bear."

I can't even believe I'm going to say this, but I agree with Gale: Peeta's not in a position to take a stand against her. She holds all the cards and he's just a pawn for her to control.

Madge shakes her head. "I just can't believe how awful his mother is. For her to go off on him like that in front of us all...it's low, even for her."

I wonder if she's thinking of her own parents, both looking so perfect when they had greeted her and Gale. They seem to accept him like he's already their son, so he's got _that_ going for him. I wonder if either Madge or Gale even notices that she won't touch her mother at all. It was Gale who got the hug and kiss from Mrs. Undersee and sat next to her at dinner.

"You mean calling Katniss a Seam Slut?" I grimace. That's not actually what Mrs. Mellark said, but it might as well have been.

"It was worse than that. How did she put it? _Why couldn't Peeta pick the rich girl to sleep with instead of some trash he picked up at home?_ " Madge is obviously offended. I idly wonder if it's because of the slur against Katniss or the slur against rich girls.

Gale laughs, remembering Katniss's expression at the idea that she would trap Peeta with a pregnancy. "Haymitch put Mrs. Mellark in her place on that one. Got to hand it to him: he's as ornery as an old goat and as disinterested as a feral cat, but no one picks on Catnip like that."

Gale's got a point.

Did I forget to mention that fucking Haymitch showed up today too? It was like Satan had the carpets cleaned and everyone needed to clear out of Hell until they dried. He had walked into the meet-and-greet reception like he owned the place, announcing loudly, "Sweetheart, you call this a party? There's not even any booze."

Katniss smirks. "I don't think he was defending me as much as his investment."

My ass. Haymitch may have told my dad that she was a responsibility he took on because he owed Mr. Everdeen and that he was checking up on how his money was being spent, but he also as much as told me he came to see how Katniss was doing. Oh, not in so many words. He just mentioned that he wanted to see the train wreck that was Katniss with a boyfriend.

That's caring, right?

When Mrs. Mellark had said that there were better things for him to do with his money than spend it on Katniss's education, he had stared into the amber liquid of his Scotch and loftily responded, "It was either put her through school or save it for my funeral. And as much as I like the idea of being buried in a Viking Longboat with a bunch of cocaine and hookers, it seems like overkill."

Madge's voice, full of awe, pulls me back to the conversation. "Did you see her _face_ when Haymitch said that if anyone was an expert on trapping a guy into marriage it would be her?"

"I thought her head was going to explode!" I can't help but laugh at the memory. Frankly, the world would be a better place if Mrs. Mellark had a _Scanners_ episode.

"Can you imagine anyone forcing Mr. Mellark into anything?" Katniss says it quietly. I can't tell if she's thinking of trying to strong-arm Peeta, or if the idea of Mr. Mellark and her own mother is swirling around in her head.

Gale stands. "Okay, that's my cue to go help Peet: the mere thought of that woman giving birth to anything makes me feel sick." He drops a kiss on Madge's hair and walks back to into the frat.

It's quiet for a minute. Madge recrosses her long legs; Katniss picks at a cuticle.

"Do you think Peeta's going to be okay? He still has tomorrow to get through." Katniss switches to tugging on her hair.

Madge frowns. "I'll make sure she stays in line."

Peeta and his family are spending the day with Madge and hers. I'm not sure if that's because Mrs. Mellark is trying to play matchmaker, or because the Undersees are too gracious to tell her to fuck off. Either way, Madge has another day ahead of dodging barbs about her and Peeta dating beneath their stations.

Whatever _that_ means. I can't help it: whenever I think of Mrs. Mellark, I want to roll my eyes.

"Haymitch had a date. How is _that_ possible?" It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. Katniss turns to me like she can't believe I'm considering Haymitch as more than a bottle of booze and a smart-ass mouth. I have to defend myself, so I say, "Did you know he knew anyone in L.A.? Christ, and did you see what she was wearing?"

The woman who had knocked on the door and trilled a greeting just as we were sitting down to dinner made most of L.A. look under-dressed. She was obviously wearing a designer suit and her hair cut alone probably cost several large bills. She even _smelled_ expensive.

"It looked like a Stella de Libero," Madge adds.

"Who?" I ask. She sends me a look that clearly conveys she's not going to waste her breath. "Whatever. They could not be more opposite. Katniss, did you know about her?"

She shrugs. "I knew he travelled a bit, but that's about it. Effie seemed nice."

"You're just saying that because she told Mrs. Mellark her sweater was tacky." Madge smiles.

"Effie sat on his lap. And did you see him smack her ass before they left?" I make a gagging noise. "I don't care how much champagne she had to drink, it was like watching old-people sex."

Madge gets a wicked look on her face. "You know, I don't think Haymitch is old - I bet he's not even as old as my dad, or Mr. Mellark. And she seems pretty young. I bet they're listening to Usher right now."

I grab my chest. Madge _knows_ how I feel about Usher. I can tell by her expression that she's really just trying to push buttons now.

She chastises, "Oh, come on, Jo. I bet Angus and Elizabeth still have sex."

"Madge, I _do not_ want to picture that." I grimace.

Katniss takes one look at my discomfort and gets in on the action. "I bet he chases her around the bedroom wearing nothing but a kilt with his face painted half blue."

"Oh my _God_. Angus role-playing _Braveheart_? I can't…" I giggle uncontrollably. When I'm finally able to catch my breath, I wipe the tears from my eyes. "Speaking of royal look-alikes, who knew that Annie's grandma looked like Queen Elizabeth?"

Madge shakes her head. "Not me. I had no idea that she was some sort of shipping heiress, either. You'd think I would have put together that she was connected to Cresta shipping."

"Madge, what good are you? At least you weren't holding out that Mr. Cresta is arguably hotter than Mr. Odair. I thought Finn's dad was going to choke when he saw Annie's family."

"Annie's _family?_ Did you see the way he stared at Sam? Like all he saw were dollar signs." Madge frowns at the fire.

Sam is the tiny bit of Annie and Finn that arrived a couple of weeks ago. He's adorable in that way that all tiny, helpless babes, born of two amazingly attractive people are. And word on the street is that he'll just get cuter as he gets older, at least according to Finn. There will be no Topanga Effect for Sam Odair.

"Finn's dad is a douche. A predictable douche, but a douche," I can't help but agree with Madge. Hey, not only did the Crestas bring champagne to toast Annie and Finn, Annie's grandmother had squashed it immediately when Mr. Odair suggested to Finn that baby Sam needed an agent. _An agent_. The kid is less than a month old!

"Angus was so sweet. Was the toast he gave in Gaelic? Even Haymitch looked touched," Katniss says.

"I think so," I say. "I'm glad Elizabeth translated it. I'll bet Haymitch was openly weepy at how much alcohol there was tonight." Besides the champagne from the Crestas, Angus bought Scotch and my dad bought vodka. Seemed like all the adults were on the same page: they needed something to act as anesthesia to get them through the day. And then you add Peeta's homebrews on top of that, and Haymitch had nothing to complain about.

"Did Annie seem okay to you guys?" Madge asks.

I think about Finn and Annie and how they were earlier tonight. Finn had seemed really busy with the baby and Annie just seemed out of it. "She was tired. Can you blame her? Three weeks ago, she pushed something the size of a small turkey out of her vag. It seems like a few dark circles should be allowed."

Madge looks lost in thought. "Yeah, I know. It's just… I don't know. Something seemed off. She didn't hold him all that much."

"Well, she had a ton of people passing him around like a crack pipe. I'm sure she was just happy to have a break. You know, so she could eat with two hands instead of one." I vaguely remember my mom saying something to that effect after Caleb was born. She said that when one of us would hold him during dinner it was like a mini-vacation for her.

Madge nods and lets it go, asking Katniss about midterms. I can't, though. I picture Annie, so pale that she was almost invisible, lying in her hospital bed last spring. She had the same sort of look tonight: like one wrong move would shatter her into a million pieces.

When Finn had walked in wearing a baby carrier, it hadn't surprised me – although even my mom reacted to the sight of him carrying Sam that way with an incredulous look, like he's so hot that her ovaries might explode – because he's been wearing one every time I've seen him since we visited the hospital right after Sam was born. Sam's freaking adorable with his shock of copper hair and big blue eyes combined with Annie's pale skin. I'm not even into babies, and I want to just hold him and kiss those little cheeks. I'm sure it's no different for Annie or Finn. Fuck, even Gale got into it. When the baby had started to fuss at the meet-and-greet, Finn wasn't the one who acted like a pro at the parenting game. He had pulled Sam out of the carrier, but looked a little lost at what to do next.

That's when Gale had swooped in. "Is the rug-rat hungry?" he asked. When Finn had shrugged, rubbing Sam's back and trying to get him to quiet down without any luck, Gale had offered to take him. Finn had been surprised with Gale deftly plucked Sam out of his arms. Tucking him into the crook of his arm and rubbing a finger on Sam's lips, the baby had immediately quieted and latched on, suckling greedily.

I had stared at Gale in utter shock as he cooed, "Just looking for something to eat, aren't you buddy?"

I've seen Gale with his family – the ninety two siblings who live in the Hawthornes' tiny house are impossible to miss because they all look so much alike. But I have somehow missed out on the fact that Gale has superpowers when it comes to babies. It pains me greatly, but I have to say that Gale Hawthorne might be good for something other than a resting place for Madge's high heels.

I let the girls know that I'm heading in for a minute. I'm on my way back from the restroom when I stop for a beer in the kitchen. It's my first of the day and I want to celebrate the fact that I've made it through another family visit. I rest against the pristine counter and take a deep draught of the chocolate stout with hints of blackberry that Peeta calls  _Nightberry._

"Tired?" Gale asks from where he's finishing up at the sink.

"Yeah. Who knew that babysitting my parents could be so exhausting?" I grin. Then I realize that Gale's spent another Parents' Weekend alone, watching the rest of us with our families and the grin slips.

"Yeah. Pretty wild group. Your brothers didn't come today." It's not a question.

"No. Mom said that Charles was bored last year and Christian said he'd rather spend the day with his friends. I guess Caleb got farmed out, too." I have to clear my throat to cover the thickness that's suddenly there. I haven't really admitted to myself how much I was looking forward to the chaos the boys bring whenever they're around. Or maybe it's the smell of peanut butter that follows Caleb wherever he goes that has me sniffling.

Gale's quiet for a second before he says softly, "That must be hard."

I take another sip of my beer. It's dark. Lusty. The right amount of chocolate balances a subtle sweetness. I totally get where Haymitch was coming from earlier when he drank it, turned to Katniss and said fervently, "You could live one hundred lifetimes and not deserve him." To be honest, though, I'm not sure if he said that because of the beer or the meal we had just finished. Because Peeta's pork adobo with black beans over Mexican polenta was spicy and creamy - beyond freaking words, it was so good. It was like a tiny fiesta for my mouth.

"It's fine," I say, because I don't want Gale to see how much it's not.

"Rory and Vick probably wouldn't want to hang out if they were here."

I snort. "Sure they would. You're their big brother and they idolize you."

"Nah, they're just afraid I'll beat them up."

I laugh. There's probably some truth to that. "Not Posy, though. She thinks you're the _best_ big brother, _ever_." I make sure to use the same emphasis I'd heard Posy use during the summer. I pause for a second before adding sincerely, "You were amazing with Sam today. I almost couldn't believe my eyes at how natural you were with him. Who would have thought that Gale Hawthorne loves babies?"

He looks away suddenly. His eyes are a little shiny when he says, "I miss them: Rory's bad attitude, Vick's love for anything math-related, and Posy's tea parties."

"I know." I get how horrible it is to feel a piece of you ripped out like that.

He sighs heavily. "I'm sorry. It's just that today…it's hard seeing everyone's families. Seeing Finn with Sam… it's like Posy was that little only yesterday. I'm missing it, Jo, all the good stuff, like learning to ride a bike and roller skate, kissing boys on the playground. Learning to read. I'm missing it."

I nod. What else is there to say? He's three thousand miles away and gets to see them twice a year. So I finish my beer and toss the bottle in the recycling.

We're quiet for a minute while he puts the tea towel away. He doesn't look at me. "I think I'd go crazy if I lost one of the kids. I mean, just knowing they're far away is hard. But if I could never see them again…"

I have to blink past the sudden sheen of tears. _Fuck, Hawthorne._ It's bad enough that I'm all emotional because the boys didn't come today and because I got a lecture from my Mom on the evils of the penis once the mystical sheen of Sam's beauty had worn off. (She had actually used the word _penis._ It's going to take at least one full session with Dr. A. to get me past the mental scarring. _)_ Now I have to deal with Gale Hawthorne having a Lifetime Television moment?

"…I know I give you a lot of crap. Most of the time, you deserve it." There's that cocky grin of his that makes Madge swoon. To be fair, even my panties fell off from that grin. "I guess… I just want you to know that I think you're al-"

I hold up a hand. There is no way I can let him finish that thought. "Shut the fuck up, Hawthorne. Whatever it is that you're going to say, let's just chalk it up to PMS and move on, okay?"

He grins sheepishly and leaves the kitchen. I'm not even sure what to do. Is this a sign heralding the zombie apocalypse? Did the presence of Mrs. Mellark scare him shitless? Despite it happening before, I still don't even know what to do with Gale when he acts like a real human being.

I need cake. And by _cake_ I mean cheesecake.

STAT.

"What are you doing to my kitchen?" Peeta sounds both tired and exasperated.

I'm too busy pulling stuff out of the refrigerator to care. "Where's the leftover cheesecake? I know I saw some, especially because half of us had flan instead."

He crosses his arms like he's withholding. "Stop ransacking the fridge."

"Come on, Peeta. Please?" I don't even care how whiny I sound, or how big a mess I'm making. He stares at me quietly for a long moment, until I close the door to the fridge and return his gaze.

Finally, he nods. "Stay here." He points at the floor where I'm standing, like I'm a dog. I nod anxiously. Hell, if I had a tail, I'd wag it while he disappears up the stairs. I idly wonder where he might have gone when the minutes tick by. Where the fuck is he? I practically hop from foot to foot in anticipation.

Suddenly, I hear voices on the stairs as Peeta and Brue come into view. Brue looks annoyed, like he's just woken up on the wrong side of the bed and is likely to stay that way. And he's shirtless.

I don't care, because he's holding a Dulce de Leche Cheesecake.

"Jo, stay right here. Do not slice it until I find out if everyone else wants some," Peeta lectures me like I'm a child.

Slice? Who is he kidding? I was going to pull up a fork and a can of whipped cream, maybe some extra caramel sauce and have myself a night I'll never forget. Sure, I'll be sick tomorrow morning. But it's no more regret than I've felt before after a night at the frat house.

He's smart enough to know that I may not abide his warning. "Brue, do not give her a fork until I get back."

Brue puts the cake on the counter and slides in front of it. Sure, it gives me a view of his chest and his rock-hard, six-pack abs. But it's blocking the view I _want_. I make a move toward the fork drawer.

"You heard the man: wait for the group." He sounds as cranky as he looks.

I ignore him and root around in the flatware. "How did you even get involved in this?"

"Peeta ran out of room down here so he put this in my fridge upstairs."

I actually drop the fork I'm holding at the mental image of Brue's room: soft lighting, the smell of flannel and chlorine and _Brue_ , and an entire cheesecake to ourselves. I have to lean on the counter for a second just to recover from my foodgasm.

Brue laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Wow, Jo. You're all hot and bothered, aren't you?" His eyes glitter like he's looking for a fight.

I toss the fork into the sink, wishing I had the guts to aim the sharp tines at his chest. "Maybe I am. So?"

"So you can wait until Peeta comes back in."

"What if I don't want to wait?" I issue the challenge. It's foolish: Brue's taller and outweighs me, no matter how lanky he is. Plus, he'd never hit me. Never. I wish he would, though, and let us work out some of this restless energy. I want the punishing smack of flesh against flesh, the weight of him on me any way I can get it. It's fuck or kill. Any idea which one is most likely tonight?

He cocks an eyebrow in response. I know that look. I _hate_ that look. It's totally patronizing, like I'm five years old or the biggest idiot he knows. "You'll wait."

"Look, just because your dad didn't show today and you're pissed at the world, don't take it out on me! Angus and Elizabeth still came, and they obviously love you-"

He pushes off the counter and stalks toward me. He's a panther, all rippling sinew and dangerous potential energy, especially when he invades my personal space and leans in. My heart races a mile a minute and I'm breathing hard, like I've just sprinted a half mile.

"Are you done?" He leans down so he's at eye level with me and his hair flops into his eyes. "Your waiting has nothing to do with my dad and whether or not he did what he said he was going to do. It has nothing to do with me being upset. It has to do with you. Learning. Restraint. You can't always get what you want."

He leans closer, putting an arm on either side of me. I can't help but shrink back a little from the heat of his body crowding me. He's so warm that I'm tempted to reach out and touch his skin to see if it's as feverish as it seems.

I have to remember to breathe.

His breath rustles my hair as he whispers in my ear, "Patience, Johanna."

I remember that whisper in my ear, telling me all the things he was going to do to me. My body remembers it too, damn traitor.

His tongue touches the shell of my ear, sending a shiver through me. "Good things come to those who wait."

I'm not sure what sort of noise I make, but it must sound like a protest. I'm pretty sure that I don't want to practice restraint: not when it comes to cheesecake and not when it comes to wrapping my legs around Brue MacLeod so he can pound into me until I quiver like Jell-o.

He laughs, a low sound that vibrates my collarbone and settles, warm and low, in my belly.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" I'm surprised I can get any sound, however shaky, past my clenched teeth.

He pulls back so he can see my face. I'm relieved that his voice is no longer the one that haunts my dreams when he says, "For distracting you from the cheesecake?"

My nod is defiant, like I'm flipping him off with my chin.

"Ah, Jo." His eyes search mine for few seconds. His brows draw together when his gaze drops to my lips. "I know something you don't know."

Oh really? Like what? Like I want him? Because _that's_ pretty clear to both of us, I think. I have no idea why my body reacts this way when he gets close, especially when he can turn it off and on and will. How is that fair? It's like most of the time he's oblivious to me, but other times I'm all he can think about. It's exhausting trying to keep up.

I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Oh?"

He nods solemnly. I hear Peeta clomping up the back stairs, but Brue still doesn't pull away even when I glare at him. Instead, he drops his eyes to my lips and leans in until a breath separates us.

I want to die. I swear, he's so close that I can feel his heart pounding in the same rhythm as mine and I'm so wet that I'm going to have to change my underwear when I get back to the dorm.

He waits: until the door creaks as it opens; until he can see my eyes widen in panic that our friends will see us like this and get the wrong idea; until he can sense I'm just about to push him away.

His bedroom voice is back with a vengeance when he says, "Peeta made sopapillas."

-o—

Midterms come and bring nightmares with them. In most, I chase someone I can't see through dark hallways, getting more and more panicked that I'll never find them before waking with a sense of loss so profound there are tears on my cheeks. In another version I hear someone calling my name and race to help them, only to miss catching them by inches as they fall into an abyss. In another, Brue holds my hand and pulls me toward some surprise he's prepared. He teases. He laughs. I'm lighter than air, happier than I can remember in a long time, and so _grateful_ to him for giving me this gift of himself. When we finally reach the prize, it's my sister floating lifeless in a tank of water.

I stop spending time at the frat house after that.

I go to class. I meet with Dr. A. I run. I do homework before falling into bed exhausted, only to wake up in the early morning hours to run again. My life becomes a small circle of events, dominated by the fact that I can't rest. Coffee, the stuff I only drank on those hellacious shopping trips with my mom, becomes a staple. I brew it so dark and thick that I have to choke it down but it does the trick and keeps me awake through lectures on differential equations and discussions of Dante's _Inferno._

I'm pretty sure I'm living the _Inferno._

Peeta comes over to our room a lot, thankfully bringing leftovers with him. I'm not sure who benefits more from his comforting presence or his yummy treats, but I know Katniss and I are both glad he's there to curl up around Katniss in her crazy pajamas at least a few times a week. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat drying on my body from the breeze coming in through the open window – Peeta likes to sleep with the window open and none of us protest it. Sure, I end up wearing flannel to keep from getting too cold. It seems right, though, to wear something warmer than my usual boxer-short-and-cami sets, especially when the time changes and it begins to get dark earlier. The sound of the 110 freeway coming in the window helps calm my racing heart in the hours between when the rest of the world sleeps and the coming dawn.

So when I jolt awake to a racing heart only to hear rustling in the bed next to mine one night, it isn't uncommon. Like, it's so normal that it takes me a full thirty seconds to even consider that it might be Peeta and Katniss having sex. Once that thought crosses my mind, I can't help but roll over to face the next bed so I can get a better look at the action, barely visible in the yellow glow of the L.A. streetlights.

Hey, don't judge me! You can't say you're not curious about Peeta's megalodon. His normally well-cloaked Klingon Bird-of-Prey. His Star Destroyer. His Death Star, complete with penetrating Planet-Atomizer. His Nautilus, cleaving through Katniss's fathomless sea. You get the freaking idea. Aren't you at least a little curious as to how it works for them? I mean, he's huge, right? And she's…she's butterfly-tiny. It's got to be like balancing a hummingbird on a baseball bat.

I'm revving up my porn playlist and have mentally clicked _play_ on Hall and Oates's _Sara Smile_ when I hear Peeta whisper my name.

"Jo?"

Fuck. You don't think he wants a threesome, do you? I mean, I'm flattered and all, but I don't think I could handle it. He's big enough he'd bump up against my cervix like it's a bass drum, and that shit hurts! Besides, Peeta and I are friends. There's just no way that I really want to see his or Katniss's _O face_ up close.

Plus, I'm saving my first-time lesbian adventure card for Madge, especially since I've come to grips with the fact that I'll probably never meet Ming-Na Wen in person.

"Mason!" His voice is insistent.

I hear a whoosh and then a flying pillow smacks into me. "Ow! Crap, Mellark!"

"Shh!" he hisses. "You'll wake Katniss."

I rub my stomach before tucking his pillow behind my head. It's mine now – spoils of war and all that. I let the scent of cinnamon and dill surround me in a comforting haze. "No I won't, she sleeps like the de-" I stop myself. _She sleeps like the dead._ Except I can't say that. I won't say that. Enough of my nightmares center on people who don't wake up ever again that I can't even say those words in jest. Instead, I start over, "What?"

"Did you have a nightmare? You were thrashing around. It's alright…I get them, too."

 _Thrashing?_ Oh, great. At least it's just Peeta that I'm waking from the sleep of the righteous. Wait, did he say he has nightmares? "You do?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I started sleeping over?"

He's really going to ask me that? I thought he started sleeping over because Katniss was here, and where Katniss goes, Peeta follows. He's like the most loyal companion animal on two legs. The funny thing is that I don't think it's about the "d" for either of them - I truly think that Peeta just likes spending time with her. And, as much as she doesn't like to admit it, it's the same for her.

I let just a touch of sarcasm creep into my voice because, if there's one thing I do not need at three thirty in the morning, it's Peeta telling me his version of the Everlark love story. "It's not because you have a fantasy of being caught in a girls' dorm pillow fight?"

A much crankier voice pipes up from the dark. "Guys? What's going on?"

I sigh. "Nothing."

Peeta says, "Jo and I were just talking about our nightmares."

"Nightmares?" Katniss thumps a pillow before settling down again, presumably against Peeta's warm body.

Lucky fuck.

"Yeah. I have these terrifying nightmares about losing you."

She's quiet for a second, like she's processing that information. I can almost picture her frown as she rejects the emotional attachment carried by that sentence. At the same time, she's probably running her hands up and down his chest. She finally asks, "How come you don't wake me?"

"I'm fine once I realize you're here." I hear a kiss and know it's probably Peeta dropping one on her forehead.

I make a gagging noise that's loud enough for them both to hear. "Excuse me? Are we done with this over-sharing barf-fest?"

Peeta ignores my antics. "What about yours, Jo?"

"Mine?" I give a harsh laugh. "Mine are about wanting what I can't have. Not ever." I recall Brue's hand in mine, the happiness I felt when he pulled me behind him. How I was okay with letting him lead me into the unknown right up until I saw her..."Can we please go back to bed now?"

"You should ta-" Peeta starts again.

"I don't want to talk about it, Brainless. Fuck." I punch his pillow wishing it were his face and turn toward the wall. My brain is wide-awake, though, racing from schoolwork to errands to making an early Christmas list for the boys. It's times like this that I really miss Finn. He would know that I need an all-night foosball match, or Streetfighter Ping Pong, or suggest we go to Spudnuts or Tommy's and play "Invent-a-Story" about the people we see. He would _know_ that I need to focus on something, anything, that isn't Carys. He'd get me out of here, out of my thoughts.

I need him.

And he's not here.

I give up after a few minutes of staring at the wall next to my bed. I rise, find my clothing, and slip on my shoes. After locating my phone and keys, I toss Peeta's pillow back to him, happy when I hear it collide with a muttered _oof_ that tells me at least one of them is still awake. "I'm going out for a run. Feel free to sex up the place, you two. Someone might as well get lucky tonight."

"Jo-"

I cut Katniss off. "It's fine. It will be dawn soon, so don't worry about me. You guys get some rest and I'll see you for breakfast."

I'm out the door before she can protest again.

-o—

Midterms fly by in a blaze of exhaustion. I get nosebleeds and Dr. A prescribes drinkable meals for me, since I'm forgetting to eat again. He also gives me something to help me sleep. I take both like a good patient, but only because I'm afraid I'll get sick and give something horrible to Sam. Finn and Sam have become a staple around campus – Finn and his baby carrier attract a crowd. He takes to bringing the baby by between classes and it somehow morphs into Madge or Gale taking care of the baby when they don't have class and Finn does. Pretty soon I get in on the act and we have wipes and diapers in addition to condoms and lube on my dresser, and formula packets and a stray bottle or two next to the tea kettle.

It pays to be prepared.

I come home one day to a dorm room full of people watching a baby sleep. It's bizarre. Peeta spouts about how he's already researching baby food and teething biscuit recipes. He looks so proud, so full of love when he holds Sam, it's a punch to the gut. I'm not sure how Katniss can ignore the longing on his face, or the fact that he would make the world's best dad. Because, if I know Katniss, she's got her cervix locked down so tight that she might as well be wearing _vagina dentata_. Kids are not in her immediate future, no way. Oh, she holds and kisses the ray of light that is Sam too, but she holds herself slightly aloof. Like she can't afford to get involved the way Peeta does.

I suppose it shouldn't be a shock, then, when I try to make Thanksgiving plans only to find that Madge, Gale, Katniss, and Peeta are heading over to Finn and Annie's. Peeta's going to cook, Katniss tells me, and Gale's going to help while Madge and Katniss give the new parents a break. I'm a little hurt that I wasn't invited, but Katniss assures me that everyone just assumed that I was going home right before asking if I want to tag along. When I decline, she swears that she'll save me leftovers of Peeta's pumpkin chiffon pie and anything else that he makes. That's especially important when I notice that all the books he's studying in our room turn out to be cookbooks or books about microbrews.

Really, the guy's a one trick pony.

So I head off to the O.C. and the family, alone. Charles is unbearable when he finds out Katniss isn't with me. I can barely console him with the probability that she's coming for Christmas. Even little Caleb looks sad because Ace won't be home to play video games, which is how I end up spending most of my days.

The boys want to talk to Katniss at least to say hello, so we alternate who's got the controllers and who's using the phone to text, which works out great. At least, I think it does until I catch Charles taking a picture of his crotch and sending it to her.

Please. Like she doesn't already have the Leaning Tower of Peeta.

I've just grabbed the phone from him and smacked the back of his head when Dad calls us to dinner. Charles is still griping about the fact that I grabbed the phone away when we take our places at the table.

"You were taking a crotch-shot, Brainless!" I defend.

"I was not!" he shoots back.

"Do I really need to pull it up on my phone?" I level him with a look, then turn to Dad. "You should really think about talking to him about sexting."

Caleb butts in, "What's _sexting_?"

"Eat your dinner." Mom turns her glare on me. "Did you really need to bring that up at the dinner table?"

Charles sends me a triumphant look that forces me to stick my tongue out at him. I intercept a head-shake from my dad that diffuses our hostilities, at least for the time being.

"Jo, your hair's getting long," Mom says after daintily chewing a bite of chicken parmigiana. It seems like a simple statement, but I hear the implied question and the even more subtle criticism.

"Yeah. I decided to grow it out this summer while I was back east. It's easier to pull back when I run and I don't have to use any product. Plus, I've been busy this semester, and getting to a salon is difficult."

"If it's a matter of money-"

"No, Mom. Really. I like it this way. It's not like I need _walk of shame_ hair so far this year, anyway."

"What's a _walk of shame_?" Caleb chimes in.

I get another look from Mom before she tells him, again, to eat his dinner.

Dad clears his throat. "So, uh, Johanna, is there someone special that you're seeing?"

 _What?_ I can't even believe he's asking me that question. Does he just take my lack of shame-walks to mean that I have a boyfriend? Even the fucking word makes me shudder. No way. I think back to Brian: there's no way I want to be tied down like that again. Unless, of course, we're talking about handcuffs. Because _that's_ a tie-down I could get used to.

I don't get a chance to answer, though, before Charles does, "She's with some guy. He wears a _skirt_."

"And what you gave you that idea?" I round on him with wide eyes that narrow thoughtfully at his defiant expression.

"There was a picture underneath your bed." He holds his hand up and makes fake kissing noises into it.

"I will kill you," I state quietly. Calmly. To their credit, my parents don't even bat an eyelash. He must be talking about the picture of Brue from last Christmas. I didn't need to bring the actual picture with me to school because I had snapped a picture of it with my phone. "What were you doing in my room, touching my stuff?" Charles clenches his jaw but I notice the look he shoots my mom. So I turn to her instead and ask, "What's going on?"

She puts down her fork and sighs heavily. "We were taking measurements."

"Measurements? For what?" I look from her to my dad. "What's going on?"

Dad uses his most apologetic voice when he answers, "Honey, you're barely ever home."

My eyebrows creep up to my hairline as what he means registers. "You're giving _Charles_ my _room?_ "

Charles grins at me and that's the last straw. I throw my napkin down on the table and push out of my chair. "Excuse me. I'm going to spend the night in _my room._ "

-o-

"Jo?" Dad knocks on my door.

"Come in." I roll over on my bed to stare at the canopy above my head. I've been making lists of all the things I want to take with me when I leave, like a sort of a mental housecleaning. It's the only thing I know of that will keep me from falling apart.

He crosses to the bed and sits down. We're quiet, lost in our own thoughts. He reaches out and takes my hand for moment before he speaks, "Jo, you're growing up - an adult now – and out on your own. You know you'll always have a place here and you know how much your mother and I love you. But Charles and Christian and Caleb are still growing up and deserve their own space."

I shift restlessly. "You made Carys's room into a guest room."

"Would you rather I give that to Charles?" He sighs. "Look, I know that this is hard. Becoming an adult – it sucks. I always assume that you're way ahead of the curve, the way you always are. You've always chomped at the bit, so impatient to get out of the house, get to college and become independent. I forget sometimes that you're still my little girl."

I don't answer him. I can't, or I'll have to admit that I just don't want to let go of this piece of myself yet.

"You are so strong and I am so…" he trails off for a second before he finds the right word, "…amazed by you. Watching who you're becoming now, hearing your opinions on things. No matter how much you're freaking out your mother with some of the things you say – I thought she was going to choke that you even know the _word_ sexting- I look at you and I just am so proud. But, honey? I have to walk by this room every day, just like Carys's. It's another empty piece of my heart without you here. I wasn't ready to let you go this soon and I guess this old man's heart can't handle it."

Since when is my dad an old man? I glance over at where his dipped head watches his fingers trace the flowers on my duvet cover. Sure, he has more gray hair, and the lines around his eyes are even deeper than they were last Christmas. He's not old. He's not. He'll never be old. He's just…he's just…he's old _-er._

He pats my leg again and stands with a wince that I've never noticed before. "Okay. I'm going to head downstairs and do some school work. We can talk more about this at Christmas. I know your mom never met a room she couldn't redecorate in less than a month, but I'd like to take my time on this one." He straightens a picture of my high school cheerleading squad. It's the one we all signed goofy things on right before graduation. I laugh at the devil horns and mustache that Finn drew on me every time I pass it. I make a mental note that it's definitely one for the "keep" box.

"Jo?" He stops in the doorway and looks back. "Don't spend your whole break up here, okay? The boys miss you." He smiles sheepishly, "I miss you, too. Love you, honey."

-o-

"You better not break his heart, Brainless." I point at Everdeen.

She stares at me, incredulous. "Jo, he sent me a crotch-shot."

"So?"

"He's _thirteen_."

"Which is why it's important you not break his heart. He's sensitive."

We're sitting around the frat house, talking about our Thanksgiving holidays after finishing up what can only be the greatest leftovers of all time. It's like Peeta knew we would be hungry, so he made double _everything_ just so we could gorge ourselves when we got back to school. I'm on my second piece of pumpkin chiffon pie and every smooth, creamy, spicy bite makes me sigh.

How I've missed this pie.

"Gale, you have brothers: would Rory or Vick send me a crotch-shot?" Katniss pleads with Gale to help her out.

He laughs, smothering the sound behind a cough. "You? Uh, no. I can't say they would." Madge must kick him or something because he follows it with a sheepish, "But, uh, I'm sure it's just because they know I'd kick their asses if they did."

A voice behind me says, "I'm surprised Jo didn't help out with camera angle pointers."

"Fuck you, Finn." I throw it over my shoulder, but it lacks heat because I'm happy to see him.

Finn's holiday was evidently as much fun as a frat dinner. Certainly, after eating the leftovers, I can say without a doubt that it was tastier than mine. I'm surprised to see him here tonight, though, especially without Annie. He says that she needs some rest, so he's giving her a break from him and Sam. Since he knows that we all love having the baby around, it's win-win.

He pats the baby, who already looks like he's mostly asleep, and says, "Come on, Mason! Charles has a crush. He'll get over it. Katniss just needs to tell him she has a boyfriend and he'll back off."

I glare. "He knows she has a boyfriend."

"Well, I'll be damned. Jo, you've rubbed off on the kid." To Katniss he says, "You're gonna have to tell him you're not interested or he'll keep coming at you like terminator teen. Be forceful: the Mason family can smell fear."

"But he's a nice kid." Katniss picks at the pie crust she's left on her plate.

"He might be nice, but don't friend zone him. The friend zone sucks," Finn advises.

"Amen, brother." Gale motions for him to pass over the sleeping Sam.

I would laugh at the look that Gale shoots Katniss, but watching Gale with Sam still freaks me out. Instead, I snort and slide Katniss's abandoned crust my way. "Like you've ever been there," I say to Finn with my mouth full of buttery, flaky magnificence.

"I've heard about it from lesser mortals."

"I don't believe in the friend zone," I announce. "It's bullshit."

Gale says drily from the couch behind where he's taken a seat, "Having been there for most of my adult life, I can tell you for sure that it's not bullshit."

He gets another eye roll from Katniss at that.

I turn to face where he's sitting in the dim light with Sam on his shoulder. "See, you talk about it like it's a parking spot. But it's not. It's the likelihood that she would have slept with you based on a variety of factors. She assessed those factors and you assessed those factors and your math just didn't match. It doesn't mean that it wouldn't have at some point in the future."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going." Peeta slides an arm around Katniss.

"Look. I'm not saying she ever would have slept with him. I mean, sometimes the odds never work out for it to happen. And that's all part of probability, right? It's like Gale said, you keep asking the girl out, thinking that your chances get better because you've asked her before. It's roulette: each time you ask is a new spin of the wheel. But your brain doesn't know that. Your brain thinks that every time is influenced by the time before. Sooner or later, it thinks, it will get a yes because all times before it were no's."

"But the human brain isn't roulette, Jo. Things _do_ influence it: actions, feelings," Madge says levelly. I think she's the only one who's trying to follow along.

"Sure. But let me ask you this: aren't you weighing a multitude of factors each time a guy asks? Things like how big a creep he's being, whether the other guy you like better just asked someone out, whether he brought you your favorite flowers, whether there's anything good on Netflix, how bloated you are…whatever, right? So these all dictate at that moment the odds that you'll hook up with him."

"So, let me get this straight. Are you saying that whether or not there's anything good on TV will dictate whether or not you'll say yes?" Brue asks.

I've forgotten he's here, lurking over by the sink. His question makes me swallow hard because both times we've been together it's been hot and intense and so freaking random.

I nod. "That's one factor. It's about the odds. Math."

Gale shakes his head. "You have a math equation for which guys you'll sleep with?"

"It's not an equation, it's a predictive algorithm."

"That's sick."

"That's hot." Brue corrects Gale.

"Is this what you think about when you're awake most nights? I mean, if you're right, how do any of us ever find each other?" Peeta's frowning at me before he turns to Katniss and his gaze softens. It's so obvious that he loves her. I'm sure he doesn't want to think about the probabilities that drew them together or could tear them apart, but he does. Isn't that what his nightmares are? Him working the numbers?

I shrug and carry my plate to the sink. "Pretty much. And as for finding each other, that should be obvious: the odds were in your favor."

-o—

"What about our odds, Jo?" Brue says it so quietly that I'm not sure he actually means for me to hear.

We're sitting around the fire pit just watching the flames, lost in our own thoughts. Finn's long gone home, Madge and Gale are probably coming up with new ways to torment each other, and Katniss and Peeta are upstairs in his room, hopefully recreating the portrait scene from _Titanic_. When I look up at Brue to make sure I've heard him, he's staring straight at me.

"What about us?" He pushes. It's gentle, but it's still a nudge.

I decide to play it off. "You know I recalculate constantly. Tonight I figure you've got a 50/50 shot."

There's a heavy minute where he looks at me like he's disappointed. "I don't want to have sex with you tonight."

I raise an eyebrow at his candor and try not to feel a little hurt. What nineteen year old doesn't want to have sex? I guess that means that he's calculating odds of his own, but it doesn't mean I want to hear about them. "What do you want, then?"

"Come on, Jo. Isn't that obvious? I want more. I don't want to figure probabilities on this every day."

"You want a relationship? With me?" It comes out with a little squeak so I have to clear my throat. Sex, I can handle. But a relationship? I've only had two. Neither ended particularly well, probably because I'm just not that good at them. Who wants to walk around and pretend to not be into other people, allowing themselves to be controlled? No matter how good that person makes you feel, opening up so they can steal who you are just seems like a horrible trade.

He sees something on my face that tightens his jaw and makes his eyes flash. "You know we're good together."

"We are." It's not like I can deny that he's the most frequently renewed book in my spank library.

He cocks an eyebrow like he doesn't understand. "It could be like that all the time."

I look at the red and gold flames, finally fixating on the blue centers close to the logs where the flames burn hottest. It reminds me of his eyes in the mirror as he fucked me: hot enough to burn.

He deserves the truth.

"I'm not like Madge or Katniss, who think that their relationships make them better people. It's jail for me. And pretty soon you'd be unhappy with something I do or say and we'd argue and break up. It would take us a year to be friends again, at least. And I really like being friends with you. So why can't we skip all of that? Why can't we just be what we are now? Today?" I wince. That's the worst speech I've ever given and I can already tell it didn't do the job.

"It wouldn't be like that."

I shoot him a look. We're obviously at an impasse.

He's quiet for a minute or two, then stands and stretches enough that I can see just the finest line of skin exposed where his shirt meets his jeans. His hands are back at his sides when he finally says, "You do have a friend zone, Jo: it's for the guys you've already slept with. You don't want to expend the effort for what you call that middle part, so you just rush to the end. Well, you know what? The middle part's the best part."

I open my mouth to defend myself, but he cuts me off. "Look, I have no idea what happened in your past, and you don't know what happened in mine. But I think you're fierce and so smart that you make my head hurt. I want to hear every theory you have – all of them. When I'm with you, everything is sharper and clearer. I feel like we could do anything, together.

"Or, I could be like Gale or Finn, who've moved on and are clearly happy. I could find someone else and bring her to dinner and take her upstairs at the end of the night. I could do that.

"But you're missing the point. The point is that I don't want to, Jo. I want you."

I don't say anything. I can't. I close my eyes and picture the Brue of my nightmare holding out his hand. I want to take it so badly that I can feel the pressure in my chest and behind my eyelids, but I'm afraid. On the one hand, walking away means seeing him with someone else. And the thought of him bringing someone else to dinner strikes me deep enough that I don't examine it further. But staying with him and screwing it up myself? Failing? To love someone for me means to love them with my whole heart. To give all of myself. I can't love by halves, or carve off little pieces of myself bit by bit. If I fail at that, the rejection, the hurt, would be total. I can't risk it. That's why I pick safe relationships that I know won't demand too much.

He shakes his head when I don't answer. He turns and walks gracefully back to the house, with the same sense of purpose he brings to everything.

I turn away too, because I can't bear to watch him walk away from me.

-o-

"Charles, Christian… hug it out!" I yell at my brothers. We've been playing video games with the boys for the better part of a week and it's starting to get to all of us. It feels like an eternity, and not just because my Mom took away the car keys.

I'm grounded.

The vacation started out decently enough: Peeta had baked us provisions for the road, just like last year. And, since we didn't have to share with Finn this time, it meant leftovers for several days. That's always a bonus, especially when you factor in that he made chocolate salted caramel truffles this year that were so sweet, so deeply rich, that I felt my panties slide off a little more every time I took a bite.

I got the invite to the MacLeod Christmas party in the mail, too, the invitation on paper so fine that it probably has better thread count than my sheets. It's gorgeous. There's just no way I can throw it out, so I tuck it in my purse and carry it with me. I figure I can use it as a bookmark or something when I get back to school.

I told my parents that they can take my room. I was going to do it anyway, but I felt even more obliged when my dad took me to the marina and told me he bought me a car. A car! Let me tell you, a car in L.A. is like a ticket to freedom. It means I can go outside of South Central anytime I want. It means I'm not stuck shopping at a supermarket where the majority of the items are in packaging I can't read. I don't even care that it's an older model Honda, unlike Brue's BMW and Finn's sporty Volkswagen. It's a huge gift, it's mine, and it runs. Katniss and I immediately headed to the tattoo parlor so she could get more detail added to her _flower_. Hey, the girl has to do something with the money Haymitch sends her, and it's not like she's spending it on make-up or shoes.

Katniss talked to Charles about his misguided selfies. He took it well, better than I thought, and it dawned on me that my little brother really _is_ growing up. Oh, sure, I still want to shake the shit out of him a lot of the time, but he's starting to really get it. Katniss expanded the talk to include dating and how girls like to be treated. I used it as a platform to talk about consent and proper condom usage, making sure he at least put one on a banana. I impressed upon him the need to use them every single time he had sex. I know he's only thirteen, but I worry that he won't be careful when he finally does get to do the nasty. Or worse yet, that he'll be the douche who doesn't bring condoms at all and puts the entire impetus on the girl. So I tell him that gentlemen bring their own bags. Just like at the grocery store - it's not required, but it may be the difference between a bad ending and a good one.

Mom, of course, freaked out over the condom thing. She was especially upset that I didn't take it seriously when she threatened to ground me by taking away the car. Hell, it's not like I have anywhere to _be_.

Which is how we end up in the house for days at a time, playing video games and beating each other up. The boys are, predictably, fighting over whose team Ace is on. The good news is that, since Katniss has been treating Charles like an adult, and since we've had "the talk", he seems more willing to compromise with Christian and Caleb. I'd like to take the credit for that. But for all I know, he's just happier because he's contemplating having his own room and jerking off to the thought of Everdeen's Beauty and the Beast pj's every night.

When is she ever gonna get some real pajamas?

Anyway, they're fighting over her _again_ and someone has someone in a headlock and Everdeen's tickling Caleb so he shrieks. It's general bedlam. Which is why I don't hear my phone until it rings for the second time, or maybe the third. I barely register that it's the theme from _The Exorcist,_ meaning Finn, when I grab it.

"Yo!" I hold the phone with one hand while I pry Christian's arm from Charles's neck with the other. Needless to say, it's hard for me to hear. "Finn, what's up?"

"I need you to come."

"I'm sorry?" I almost drop the it as it gets jostled by a kick from Caleb. I concentrate on the phone, trying to determine if I am on the weird end of a butt-dial because I know a lot of girl's whose panties would go up in flames if they heard Finn Odair say that sentence.

He sighs, but there's a sound to it I've never heard before – like a catch or a sob. His voice is just as quiet when he repeats himself. "I need you to come. Please. I know it's a lot to ask because it's Christmas, but I can't do this alone anymore."

"Alone?" I push the boys away with probably more force than needed so that I can move to the hallway. "Where's Annie?" There's a pause and that weird catch again. This time, it makes the hairs on the back of my arms stand up. "Finn, where's Annie?"

"She's here." There's a laugh, but it's dry as Death Valley and just as scary. "She's here, sort of."

 _Sort of?_ "Sam's alright?"

"Yeah. He's fine. I just… I don't know who else to call. Please, Jo? I'll owe you forever. If it were just me, it would be okay. But with Sam… Can you come?"

I'd think he was bullshitting me if it weren't for the weird hitch to his breathing. _What the hell is going on?_

"Finn, this had better not be a fucking joke," I warn him. "Dad's making pizza tonight and Barb will eviscerate me if I bail on a family function."

Now I've heard Finn's _sincere voice_ – the one he uses when he's trying to keep a girl he's breaking up with calm. Or the one he uses when he meets a girl's parents for the first time and he's trying to convey responsibility. I've seen what the quiet, dulcet tones can do.

This isn't it.

He sounds haggard. Tired. "I swear, Jo. I swear on Sam's life that I am not messing with you."

I barely listen to him. Halfway through his declaration, underneath the rasp of his voice there's something else that I can't place. Is that wind? It sounds like every haunted house I've ever visited, every ghost story I've ever read. It has the hairs on the nape of my neck standing on end. The reedy sound reaches a peak and then dies off. By the time he's finished speaking, it's started again.

"God, Finn. Are you watching a scary movie or something? Shut it off. No wonder you sound like hell. That stuff will give you nightmares."

He sighs heavily, like a huge weight is pushing all the breath out of his lungs. "That's not the TV. That's Annie."


	34. Shake Up Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Breastfeeding, Postpartum Depression

"Get your stuff together. We're going back to L.A."

"What?" Katniss struggles under the pile of young bodies as they tickle her. She's barely listening until she pushes through the puppy-pile and sees my face. "Jo? What's going on?"

"Just…get your stuff together. We're leaving."

Leave it to Charles to get in the way as I try to leave the room. "You can't leave. You're grounded."

 _Like I care._ I point a finger at his chest. "Do Mom and Dad ever leave the boys with you?"

His eyes light up with pride. "Yeah, sometimes."

"Good. You're in charge, then."

Katniss doesn't say a word, not even when she sees me walking out of my parents' room dangling the car keys. Maybe she notices the determination on my face, or maybe she's afraid I'll leave her by herself with my family. Or maybe it's a little of both that has her hustling to keep up as I carry my bags downstairs and leave my Dad a quick note telling him I'll call. I don't say I'm sorry even though I know I'm going to end up in trouble. But on my way out the door, I hug Caleb and Christian tightly to me and kiss the tops of their heads.

Charles won't put up with the public display of affection and I don't let on that it bothers me. "When will you be back?" he asks.

"I'm not sure. You've got this, right?" Something about his look reminds me of Gale when he nods, which would make me want to smile if I weren't so distracted. "Good. Promise me you won't go near the pool until Dad's here."

He rolls his eyes. "We'll be fi-"

"Promise!" I grip both of his shoulders tightly. He winces, like I'm hurting him. I probably am, but I need him to _hear_ me.

He at least understands the urgency because he's not at all cocky when he finally says, "We won't go near the pool."

"Good." I muss his hair for good measure and he reflexively smacks at me. Satisfied, I turn to Katniss. "Let's go."

-o—

I fill Katniss in on what I know, which isn't much. She's quiet for most of the two hour drive. Not that she's normally much of a chatterbox. I can't help but assume she's trying to give me space to think things through and come up with the best strategy. I can't though. My mind runs in a million directions: I have no idea what we're walking into. I'm normally Finn's wingman, so I hope he has a plan once we get there. We're usually in his car, listening to his crappy playlists, getting crumbs all over his center console. But he's not here and I'm in charge. Suddenly it hits me – Finn and I will never talk girl-talk in my room again, or work out the perfect after-wax elixir. He'll never sleep on the floor and cry over some girl whose name he won't remember in a week.

That part of my life is over. This is all new territory.

Everdeen doesn't even say a word even when we pull into the underground parking garage of Finn's high-rise in downtown L.A. I have to give my name to the attendant who confirms that I'm on Finn's "list of visitors", but after that we're free to park. My new-old car is out of place amidst the parked Mercedes and BMW's but I lock it anyway because we're in downtown L.A. Katniss checks out the elevator on the way up to Finn's place. I can tell she's impressed at how quiet it is. It's the sort of building that has a concierge desk and free dry cleaning. Too bad that Finn needs those things about as much as I need a hole in the head. There's no funky smells in the hallway here, either; if any of the residents eat stinky food, I'm pretty sure they get evicted on the spot.

Finn hugs me when he answers the door. He looks like shit – haggard and pale, with spit up on his shoulder, and spiky hair like he's been running his fingers through it. His jeans look like they haven't been washed in a days. He smells like pee and baby wipes.

"What's up with her?" I motion to Annie, who's rocking silently back and forth on the couch.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. She's been like this off and on for a few days. She'll be fine for hours, then she'll start to cry and I can't calm her down. Eventually, she cries herself out like this and it starts all over. It's worse at night."

"But Sam's okay?"

"Yeah. He seems fine. But it's hard to do laundry and meals and deal with him and Annie at the same time. I haven't even showered today." He wrinkles his nose.

"So I smelled. Why don't you go take one now? Katniss and I can handle whatever out here." I notice Katniss has taken a seat on the couch and is talking quietly to Annie. "Have you guys eaten anything today?" I figure I might as well make myself useful, right?

Finn grins sheepishly. "We've, uh, been living on Peeta's care package and mac and cheese."

"Fruit cake and mac and cheese? That is _not_ nutrition and you know it!" The thought turns even my stomach.

"He didn't send us a fruitcake. We got a whole bunch of Christmas cookies this year. And you're really going to lecture me about nutrition?" He laughs, looking more like the old Finn by the second.

I smack him on the arm and then push him toward the bathroom. "Go. Make yourself beautiful, please, or Katniss and I might have to bail." I cross to the stainless steel and granite kitchen that I'm used to Finn keeping pristine. It's not that different now, which is my first clue that maybe Finn isn't kidding. It's confirmed when I open one side of his fridge and find out-of date orange juice, mustard, and bread.

"Fuck," I mumble under my breath. "Even Peeta couldn't make anything with this. We're gonna have to go grocery shopping."

-o—

"Are your parents pissed?" Katniss asks as I walk in from the balcony. She's looking expectant, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a sleeping bag in Finn's guest room-slash-office.

I sigh and flop down next to her onto my own nest of blankets on the floor. "You have no idea. Forget giving up my room; I'm pretty sure they want disown me." I leave out that my mom won't even speak to me, and my heart still aches from the hurt in my dad's voice when he asked if I was coming home tomorrow for Christmas Eve.

I tried to explain to him how bad things are here. How Annie had frozen up when Sam started to cry in the grocery store. And when I had suggested that she breastfeed in the store, both she and Finn had looked at me like I had sprouted a second head. I explained that it was no big deal, Mom used to do it all the time – we could drape her shoulder with a blanket and she could walk while holding him. Annie had burst into tears even before I had finished. Finn had had to walk her to back to the car so she could feed there while Katniss and I finished up in the store. Then, once we were done and ready to leave, she had started to cry again when we had taken a sleeping Sam from her to strap him into his car seat. She had cried the entire way back to the apartment, even when we gave Sam back to her. Katniss had had to sit with her for an hour, plying her with chamomile tea, rubbing her back, and urging her to rest.

Which is why I wanted to talk to Mom: I figured she could help me figure out what to do.

"You were pretty good with her out there." My voice is muffled as I straighten my legs out into some stretches. I'm hoping the pull will help me take my mind off the pain in my heart.

I think I hear Katniss snort. "Yeah, well, I'm used to dealing with something like that." When I stop, perplexed, she sighs and continues, "My mom was like that after my dad died. Actually, I think she was worse than this in the beginning."

I can't even imagine what her mother must have been like if what we've been through today is a sign of improvement. It puts a new spin on Katniss, her desire for order, and her need to separate herself from people sometimes. It also explains her fierce protectiveness when it comes to Prim.

"We should get Annie on a schedule. That really seemed to help us – but especially Mom – cope."

I nod because it's as good an idea as any.

-o—

"You gonna help me fold, Odair, or what?" I push Finn's feet off the coffee table with more force than strictly necessary. Everdeen and I have singlehandedly taken on the piles of laundry that have accumulated on the floor of Sam's room.

"I'm taking a break."

"Oh?" I cock an eyebrow. "Can I put a timer on _your break_? Because this is not how I imagined spending Christmas vacation."

He gets up with a whiny protest and pulls some underwear out of the basket. Folding it, he looks up with his most charming smile. "You know, most girls would die to get in my underwear like this."

I snort, but can't help smiling a little. "Not this one. Now less lip, more laundry."

He's quiet through a few more skivvies before he mumbles, "Sorry, Jo. For not helping. I'm just…really tired."

Oh, I hear him. If the past couple of nights are any indication, I have no idea how he's still functional. Between Annie getting up to feed the baby, switching between breastfeeding and pumping, and then prepping bottles, it's like Union Station out in the living room. Even Katniss and I are exhausted, and we're sleeping in a room with a door. Finn, whose bed is in the loft over the living room, can hear every single thing clear-as-day.

"Why don't you go lay down? I've got the rest, and Annie, Sam, and Katniss won't be back for a little while," I tell him.

Everdeen's been going stir crazy cooped up in the apartment. When she found out that Annie hasn't been out of the apartment in weeks – barring our disastrous shopping trip – Katniss cajoled her to take a short walk. The three of them packed up enough stuff to camp for a week, and Katniss had to agree to return to the apartment if Sam got fussy and wanted to eat, but it was something. I am almost jealous of her time outdoors, even if it's just to pace the gray streets of downtown like the dumb pigeons that don't even realize they can fly.

He nods and shoots me a grateful smile before taking himself up the loft stairs. I figure I have time to finish folding and then maybe I can shut my eyes as well.

A few minutes after laying down, I've given up on trying to nap and end up on the internet to check out my favorite Tumblr porn blogs. I'm seriously disappointed when I realize how boring they are. On a whim, I Google "post-pregnancy sleep deprivation" and begin to read. I'm still at it when Katniss, Annie, and Sam return.

"How'd it go? Any freak outs?" I ask when Katniss pops her head into the room.

"Alright. She's…she doesn't talk much. The minute Sam started to fuss, she started tugging at her hair and shaking and crying. I had to hustle her back here. She seems really concerned that she's not doing a good job of feeding him. She counts. Have you heard it?"

I nod. In the middle of the night, Annie wakes me up with her quiet sobs as she counts over and over. I think about the fact that Annie's getting almost no sleep and wonder how much of her anxiety is related to that. "I think we need to get her to sleep."

"How are we going to do that when she has a fit every time Sam eats?" Katniss doesn't have to tell me that there's barely time for any of us to get sleep between feedings right now, let alone time to get Annie to calm down, too.

I frown. "What about…let's try waking up with her at night. If we can help her get whatever she needs organized so that she's not puttering around for half of her sleeping hours, that's got to help, right? We can do shifts: I can take midnight to four. You take four to eight. "

"What about before that?"

"We'll make Finn pick that up." I feel slightly more in control now that we're going to try something to help. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken breast with sweet glaze, pineapple, and peppers over rice. And a salad." Katniss's bizarre menu memory for Peeta's cooking is really paying off: we've been using it as the basis for whatever we cook, since none of us are very creative. Or rather, I'm _creative_ but we need something with actual nutrition and not just a carb one night stand.

"Okay. I'll be out to help in a second."

Katniss turns, bumping into my purse and knocking it off the dresser. "Dammit! Sorry," she mutters as she scoops the contents back into it. She holds up a small envelope. "Jo, is this the invitation to Angus's Christmas party?" She scans it for the date. "It's tomorrow night!"

"So?"

"You should go."

"No way. We've got too much going on here…" I don't want to admit that the party is so far out of my league that I've never entertained a single thought of going.

"Oh, come on. Finn and I can handle Annie and Sam for a few hours."

I shake my head. "I don't have anything to wear. And I somehow doubt I can show up in jeans and a t-shirt, no matter who invited me."

She taps the invite against her palm with a thoughtful look. "If I can figure out the 'what to wear' part, will you go?"

"What's the fuck, Everdeen? Why are you pushing this?" I'm cranky and probably being too harsh. But can't she just drop it?

"I just…I know that you hate being cooped up as much as I do. And, somehow, I don't think walking around the block with a stroller is your style. You've got to be going stir-crazy…ergo, consider it my Christmas gift to you this year."

"Hanging out with in high society? Yeah. Because _that_ seems like fun," I scoff, even though she's right. I'm ready to bite Finn's head off, and it's taking everything in me to stay patient with Annie. I assess Katniss's devious look. "Are you – you're not trying to set me up, are you?"

She brushes a strand of hair from her suddenly flushed face. "No. Why would you think that? It's just that Brue's the only guy you've gotten horizontal with this year. I just thought that you guys might consider a repeat."

I smack my fist down on the desk so hard my laptop bounces. "Oh. My. God. There's nothing between Brue and I-"

She shoots me a sly look. "That's what I said about Peeta. Remember?"

-o-

You know that scene in every Cinderella rip-off where she stands and gawks at the palace? Where the sweep of the driveway gives way to a fountain and maybe some steps upward and she smiles in awe, unable to believe her good fortune and looks forward to meeting her handsome prince?

Yeah, this isn't like that at all.

Okay, so the mansion literally looks like something out a romance novel – all high, imposing walls symmetrically flanking a front door that looks like it takes two men to open it. The way the lighting reflects off the gray stone gives it a festive air, as do the pine garlands and wreaths attached to each of the dozens of windows along the front of the house. But I definitely don't feel like Cinderella, and she wasn't regaled with loud bagpipe music as soon as she got out her car. And as for the prince…don't get me started. At least I'm not late, despite my pumpkin being stuck in sucky L.A. traffic. And I'm not dressed like her, either. No big, frilly dress for this girl.

When Katniss asked Annie if she might have anything formal that would fit me, Annie was more enthusiastic than she had been about anything since we arrived. What followed was something between a girl sleep-over, and a New York fashion show - -it was so giggly that Finn, the same guy who had twenty cheerleaders get ready for our high school's Homecoming dance in his hotel room, told us he was going to work out so he could give us some space.

With him out of the way, Annie shoved dress after dress in my direction and made me try them all on. It's a good thing that she and I are both of a similar height and shoulder widths, because there's no way some of those outfits would have fit otherwise. I'm not exactly sure what Annie was doing at boarding school, but she had enough formal wear to fill half the closet in Sam's room. I finally called it quits after an hour – how many green dresses can one girl try on? Katniss begged me for one more after I vetoed this slim-fitting, high-necked number she and Annie loved, saying it made me look like a tree.

A freaking _tree._

So pardon me if I questioned her judgment when Annie came out with what looked like a satin washrag dangling from the hanger. "This is it, this is the one. I've never had the guts to wear it, but it's totally you."

"It looks like something you won in capture the flag," I scoffed.

Katniss shot me a look. "Try it on."

"I can't even find the front, are you kidding? Let's just admit that this little _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_ moment didn't work and move on."

But a little while, and a whole lot of cajoling later, I had to admit that the look worked for me. A deep bronze color, the dress draped in the front before tapering to an ax-blade of a sheath that fell to mid-calf. Antique gold lace appliques on each side emphasized the tight waist. The cowl of the neckline streamed in a ribbon from each shoulder blade, emphasizing the expanse of skin left completely bare and ending in another drape that accentuated my butt.

Annie crossed her arms triumphantly. The bitch.

Even Katniss was taken aback. "You look-"

"—Like a shot of Jaeger?" I quipped, turning this way and that so the smooth satin caught the light.

Katniss shook her head. "Like a total bad-ass."

"Oooh! I forgot!" Annie rushed back into Sam's room and returned with a small clutch purse and a handful of gold. "Jewelry!"

I stared at the bangle she thrust at me. It looked real, its knobby, burnished gold was a hefty weight in her hand. That's when it dawned on me that the tag still hanging from the dress was the price, not some weird SKU, and I was wearing an outfit that probably cost more than my car. And we hadn't even gotten to shoes yet. "Annie, this is too much. I can't-"

Her eyes, shining a moment ago, filled with tears. "Please, Jo? You and Katniss are helping us so much."

 _Fuck. She's a faucet!_ I backed off and grabbed the bangle and earrings from her before she started to cry in earnest.

So that's how I ended up letting Katniss do my hair while Annie did some design in gold body paint all over my back: a few threatened tears, some giggles, and Katniss and Annie pushing me out the door like some perverted fairy godmothers.

-o-

I run the gauntlet of bagpipers and climb the steps to the imposing front doors. _That's a great set of knockers_ , I think for a second, staring at the set of lion heads that are the size of Angus's fists. I take a deep breath, mentally squaring my shoulders and boosting my bust. Two men in full-on Scottish gear swing open the great doors.

I freeze for a second on the threshold, blinded by the reflection of light on all the shiny surfaces of the two-story foyer. And there are a lot of them: the entire back wall is floor to ceiling glass, the floor is an imposing expanse of dark wood polished to a high sheen, and the center of the back wall holds the largest fresh Christmas tree I have ever seen. Just the smell of all that pine refreshes me in a way I can't describe as I move into the receiving line.

"Lass, ye made it!" Angus, looking like a Highland laird from way back, thumps me on the shoulder as I try not to wince. "And ye look gorgeous." His thick burr is even more pronounced and I idly wonder if he's hit the Scotch already.

"Speaking of gorgeous…" I lean to kiss Elizabeth. If Angus is brawny, Elizabeth is as cool and composed as a flower in a cream dress that brings out glow of her skin and the blue of her eyes. I'm surprised that her jewelry is minimal – especially in L.A.- except for a heavy pin that holds a bit of a tartan scarf to her neckline. I have to assume it's the MacLeod plaid, since Angus is sporting it too, as is the monolithic Christmas tree. "Elizabeth, that is the largest Christmas tree I've ever seen," I tell her.

She shoots a wry look toward Angus."Angus, I told you - it's too big."

"Bah. The lass is daft. There's no such thing as too big."

I can't help but giggle at his expression, or Elizabeth's helpless shrug. "Ignore him, Johanna," she says. She immediately moves into a speech she must have down pat, "Through there is the bar, and there's a buffet and dancing on the patio behind us. Just head through any of the French doors. Have a good time, dear." A quick squeeze of my hand and I'm released from the line and on my own.

-o—

 _Holy crap, there are kilts everywhere_. I can't get over the twisting kaleidoscope of patterns and textures as the guests dance. I had expected Angus would use this as an excuse to wear full Scottish evening dress, I just hadn't anticipated so many other men joining in. In a city full of women striving for a specific look every day, seeing men dressed up like this is a pleasant change. Even without any alcohol, I feel a little dizzy just watching all those pleats swirl. Maybe a trip to the buffet is in order. God knows, I'm grateful for any meal I don't have to cook.

"Jo?"

I whirl around, almost losing my balance, but Brue's hands are there to steady me. He seems to know when I can stand upright and releases me. I'm still not sure my legs will hold me, though, as one word keeps repeating itself in my head.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…._

Because, if I thought a picture of Brue in a kilt was fucking hot, the real thing is so bang-worthy that my legs are already jelly. I don't think I've ever seen him actually use product in his hair, and the crisp whiteness of his shirt contrasts with his tan. How could I have known that a kilt would hug his hips like that? Or that my eyes would be drawn to them, thinking about the little "V" his abs make? If that's not enough, his dress jacket is tailored so he looks like he could be on the cover of a romance novel. A _tawdry_ romance novel.

I swear, I just had a little orgasm over the fact that he's wearing a vest under his jacket. Did I mention that I find vests fucking hot? His eyes sparkle in a way that suggests he knows exactly what I'm thinking, the bastard. I know my mouth is hanging open, and my panties would be soaked through if I was wearing any.

I close my mouth with a click that I'm sure he can hear and clear my throat. "Hi."

"I didn't expect to see you here! You look-"

"Like a shot of Jaeger?" I cut in. Because that's how I feel in this dress. Like I could cut through anything.

He stops for a second, as if considering my interruption. Finally, he smirks and nods in acknowledgement. "Yeah. Something like that." I raise an eyebrow at him, but he ignores it. Motioning to where a bunch of couples are dancing in front of a stage, he asks, "Would you like to dance?"

I don't think Brue has any idea what might be opening himself up to with that offer. The mere thought of me putting my hands on his vest under that jacket is enough that I want to fan myself. And the image of me scraping my nails up his thighs to see if he's authentic under his kilt? I almost have to grab my stomach, it tightens so painfully.

So I quip, "No way. I'm afraid you'll hit me with your man-purse."

His brows draw together. "My wha-you mean my _sporran?"_ He motions to the leather and silver pouch he wears on a chain at his waist. Like I need another excuse to drop my eyes to his dirk _._

"Yeah. What's that for? I mean, what do you put in there? It's not very practical." I suppose it could be an erection hider. I mean, if you're free-balling below it, having something to cover that up is handy.

"Not very practical? But your tiny little purse is? What's in that?" He motions to the completely impractical clutch that I'm only using because it matches my dress.

"My license and insurance cards, a credit card, some cash, lipstick, mints and condoms." At his surprised look, I defend, "Hey, you never know who you're going to meet at one of these things."

He laughs, showing his sparkling-white teeth, and almost making me whimper. "I'm just surprised that little thing can hold all of that. As for what's in my sporran, pretty much the same thing. Because you never know who you're going to meet at one of these things." He winks.

Dammit, he's using the voice that stars in my fantasies again.

"How about we just go check out the buffet, then?" He motions his arm to the heavily laden tables set up on the opposite side of the patio, away from the band and dancing.

I'm game for that. After all, I'm sure the food is off-the-hook, and having something to do with my hands will keep me from doing something I'll regret. Like slipping the metal buttons of his vest free and then fisting the sides of his shirt until every button pops open and I can lick down his hedge-trimmed happy trail. When I nod, he moves to put a hand in the middle of my back.

I side-step. "Woah - don't touch the back. Annie spent an hour on it and I'm sure she'll kill me if I wreck it this soon."

He raises an eyebrow, then circles behind me and lets out a low whistle. "This is amazing." I swear I can feel a finger trace the air next to my spine.

"It kept her from crying." I shrug.

"You haven't seen it?"

When I shake my head, I hear a little rustling, then a click and a flash. "Check it out." He thrusts his cell phone at me.

I marvel that he's got enough room in his sporran for a cell phone too – like it's Dora's magical backpack – before I check out exactly what Annie did to the blank canvas that is my exposed back. Brue's right: it's amazing. Annie's taken the elaborate design of the appliques and created it as one large design in gold body paint and tiny jewels. No wonder she told me I didn't need much jewelry.

"Wow." I say, and hand him back the phone.

"Wow? That's all you can say? You really have no idea how you look tonight, do you?" Suddenly he's next to me and aims the cell phone at us both. I'm blinking from the flash before I know what hit me. "Look. You're a warrior, Jo."

And I am. Standing next to Brue in all his finery, I look lethal from my elaborately braided hair to the clunky, hammered gold band gripping my upper arm, to the satin that hugs my legs. If he's a peacock, I'm the ax that will chop off his head.

I grin. "I'm hungry."

He stashes the cell phone and grins back. "Then let's go conquer that buffet." He offers his arm in a grand gesture, ever the gentleman.

We fill up on everything from turkey to a standing rib roast, mashed potatoes, and some sort of deep-fried vegetable. I skip the salad and the rolls in favor of saving room for the dessert table because I think I spy Peeta's fruitcake porn.

"Is that Peeta's fruitcake?"

Brue nods. "He sent one to my dad, who has no idea what to do with it. I gave it to Grandda, and he thought it should be shared. From the look on your face, I'm going to have to fight you for it, aren't I?"

"I'll win." I'm not even joking. I would walk through fire for that cake. "We got one too. It didn't last a day. I was hoping Finn and Annie would still have theirs, but all they got was a cookie assortment." I frown and wonder if Peeta's losing his touch, but the thought is immediately eclipsed as I savor a bite of buttery, creamy mashed potatoes. Really, is there anything better than mashed potatoes?

"Try this." Brue holds out his fork, which cradles some sort of dark meat and dressing. He laughs at my arched eyebrow. "Come on, Jo. It's goose, not poison. Try it."

I take a bite. It's dark and smooth - almost greasy - and has a strongly-wild taste. Paired with the sausage, cranberry, and nuts, it's spicy and sweet and tart and gamey all at once. It would be phenomenal paired with Peeta's Porter. "That's goose? There's something else in the stuffing-"

"It's elk sausage, cranberries, nuts, and honey bread. One of my uncles hunts."

I turn to look at the tables, so full they're practically groaning under the weight of all the food. "You mean someone _makes_ all this stuff?"

Brue shrugs, like it's never occurred to him to wonder where all the food came from. "Yeah. I mean, Grandma brings in caterers to round out the edges. And the desserts are mostly brought in, with the exception of some cookies."

"I wish I'd known. I would have brought something."

"No thanks. We don't want anything based on mac and cheese or crescent rolls." At my dirty look, he grins. "Now, tell me about Annie and Finn and their mysterious lack of fruitcake."

So, I do. I tell him about Finn's call and Annie being an exhausted mess. I explain that we're trying to get her to sleep and eat like a human being. Of course, he scoffs at the fact that I would be giving anyone nutrition advice. I tell him that we switch off who's cooking between Katniss and me. Finn picks up the slack. I say that I'm optimistic, and that even the walking with Katniss seems to help, although Annie still freaks about breastfeeding anywhere outside of the apartment.

Halfway through the tale of my return to L.A. we end up at the dessert table. He slices me some of the fruitcake, tops it with whipped cream and adds a few cookies to the plate as well.

Not wanting anything crowding my cherry chocolate bliss, I take a bite of the golden shortbread that melts on my tongue, buttery and only faintly sweet. It's studded with some sort of pale gray seed that lends it the same pungent tang as rye bread. "What are these?"

Brue's eyes twinkle. "Abernethy biscuits. They're a digestive."

I almost choke. "Haymitch has biscuits?" The thought doesn't stop me from taking another bite, though. They're the perfect end to a meal – especially one as heavy as what we just ate. I can see Angus skipping any other dessert and just having this and whisky. I sigh when the last one is gone and move on to the reason I went light on the meal. Hell, I even skipped drinking for this cake. I can't help but moan a little as the first bite crosses my lips.

Brue's fork pauses on the way to his mouth. "You really do love your desserts, don't you?"

"What's not to like? This is _perfection_." I punctuate the statement with a lick of my fork.

Brue's eyes follow my tongue. "Do you need to be alone for a moment? Because I'd bet my garters that you want to know there's éclairs on the other end."

I barely break my stride, although the word "éclair" does funny things to me. Or is it the image of Brue in garters and nothing else? I point the tines at his chest and narrow my eyes. "Do not toy with me over French pastry."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'll go grab a couple."

What Brue brings back are fallen bits heaven. Each tiny éclair eschews the pretension of chocolate ganache and is, instead, crowned with some sort of spread that glistens like the best sort of edible Astroglide. I eye them greedily and he lets me pick one before taking the other for himself. I waste no time and bite into the lusciously creamy blend of strawberries, cream, and pâte à choux.

"Oh my God," I breathe with my eyes closed.

"You okay there, Mason?" I can hear the laughter in his tone and imagine his smirk. When I open my eyes, he's watching me, pastry barely touched. He smiles bashfully, like I caught him staring. To make it up to me, he holds out his barely touched cream-filled wonder. "You want this?"

"You don't?" I'm astounded. Clearly, there must be something wrong with Brue MacLeod for him to turn down the best dessert I've ever had that wasn't baked by a Mellark.

He shakes his head and moves a little closer so I'm literally eating out of his hand while he watches. It would be an erotic enough moment – his gaze heavy on mine as the burnt sugar topping explodes like a brulee orgasm in my mouth – if there wasn't someone clearing his throat next to us.

"Brue? There you are!"

My eyes widen at the unfamiliar voice, especially when I can already feel Brue pulling away. I grab the last bite and I lick my lips as I assess this new threat: our visitor is tall and lanky with ginger, wavy hair and blue eyes. Almost impossibly for a red-head, he's tan and without freckles, which sets off the MacLeod plaid nicely.

The MacLeod plaid. _Fuck._

"Dad, this is my friend Johanna Mason."

Brue's dad doesn't hold out a hand, which is good because I have no idea what to do with my plate. He quietly assesses me. I get the distinct feeling he's not impressed when he does nothing more than nod in my direction before turning to Brue. "You almost ready?"

"I don't see why we have to do this every-"

"Now." There's an imperious tone to his dad's voice that I imagine came right from Angus. And now that he's annoyed, I can see the similarity between father and son: it's in their eyes as they frown, the curl of their hair as it flops slightly over their foreheads. He literally grabs Brue's plate, thrusts it at me with barely a glance, and guides his son away.

I'm amazed at the audacity of the man for a minute. And I thought Finn's dad was a dick? This guy makes Mr. Odair look like a charmer. With people skills like the ones I just saw, it's no wonder Brue's so quiet. But I have to admit that I'm curious as I see the two of them pause to say hello to a guy wearing black leather pants and mirrored aviators, especially when I realize that it's Lenny Kravitz. _Holy crap. I'm at a party with Lenny Kravitz!_ I force myself to focus past Kravitz's amazing sense of style – and a great ass, I might add – as they continue past to stand next to the stage. Brue pulls off his jacket and, as his dad talks to him, he unfastens and rolls his French cuffs. Something about the way he moves the pressed cotton over his forearms has me gripping the plates for dear life, remembering the way those hands had moved over me just as deliberately.

Suddenly, this gorgeous blonde glides up to him, slides a hand up his arm, and leans in to plant her glossy rose-colored lips on the side of his mouth. I'm shocked as Brue and his dad laugh and the latter hugs this vision in palest pink. She's as lovely as Madge, and almost as tall as Brue in her heels. I know two other things about her: one, she's the mystery girl from Brue's cell phone pictures; and two, she comes near me and I will claw her lipstick right-the-fuck off.

I ignore the pain in my chest and whirl around to dump the plates I'm holding when I almost bump right into Elizabeth.

"Johanna? Oh, let me take those plates from you, dear." Elizabeth makes quick work of summoning a circulating waiter to take them from her. "Are you having a good time?"

I try not to think about that kiss, how the light had reflected off her blonde hair. "Yes, it's amazing. And the food was sublime. Brue tells me you make a great deal of it yourself?"

Elizabeth smiles softly and it's like angels have come down to earth. "Oh, I have help." She leans forward as if imparting a great secret. "I enlist the entire MacLeod clan every year for food duty for both this and Christmas. When you have as many children and grandchildren as I do, it would be a shame not to take advantage of all that free labor." She winks.

I laugh at her strategy. "I never would have pegged you as a little general."

She pats my hand. "Ah, Johanna. Some women are gifted at creating things, others at organizing, and still others have the gift of influence. It's a skill you need if you're married to Angus."

I bet. She'd have to have some skill in that area just to keep him in line.

"Elizabeth? Oh, Elizabeth! What a wonderful party!" A tittering voice says behind me. I smell the perfume of the owner before I see her in her distinctive, ruffled finery. She kisses Elizabeth on both cheeks. Realizing she's interrupting, she raises a perfectly manicured hand to her breast in a dramatic gesture. I wonder if she realizes that it's impossible to see because the fabric of her dress almost swallows her hand. "I apologize for the interruption."

"Effie, you remember Johanna Mason from Parents' Weekend," Elizabeth reintroduces us.

Her handshake is limp in a way that says that she's an air-kisser from way back. "Ah, yes. You're a friend of Haymitch's ward?"

I want to roll my eyes at that description. What are we, twelve? I know that's disrespectful to Elizabeth, though, so I say politely, "Yes." I think to add, "That's a lovely dress. Is it a Stella de Libero?" I leave out that the heavy cream and maroon confection would look better on someone ten years her junior.

Effie beams. "It _is._ What an amazing eye you have, child!" She leans in conspiratorially. "She is all the rage this year. That's a lovely dress as well. Who are you wearing?"

I panic for a minute. Who am I wearing? What sort of question is that?

Luckily, Elizabeth comes to the rescue. "Effie's a clothes horse. She organizes the yearly fashion show fundraiser for our boarding school alumni organization. How are you dealing with the kilts this year, Effie? Last year, Effie was scandalized when a man wearing his kilt _authentically_ flashed more than he intended."

That dramatic hand returns to plucking at the ruffles across her chest, the flash of a garnet the size of a robin's egg glittering. "It was horrific - he was completely on display. I still haven't recovered: I have to keep averting my eyes from the dance floor in case one of them turns too quickly!"

"You should really give Haymitch a tartan and give it a try. I rather think that the possibility of Angus flashing me is the best part of the party." Elizabeth winks in my direction.

I'm caught between laughing out loud and choking in horror. What comes out is something like a snort.

Effie clucks her tongue, distracted, as she looks around. "Will you look at that? Clarissa Conrad is making a total spectacle of herself, despite looking fabulous in pink Givenchy. You would think she would learn. He is handsome, though. I'll give her that."

It's the same blonde that was kissing Brue earlier. She's still all over him, practically draped around his shoulders as his father talks. Brue clearly isn't paying her any attention, though, which makes me want to give someone a high-five. He finally steps away from her and up the steps to the piano.

Sadly, he smooths his kilt before sitting, arranging it so there will be no peeking.

Angus strides over and presses a kiss to Elizabeth's lips. "Beg your pardon, ladies. But this lass hasna danced with me all evening. Elizabeth?" She blushes like a much younger woman and takes Angus's arm.

Effie heaves a deep sigh. "They are so in love. Still. Isn't it glorious?" She grimaces at the stage. "And that spectacle…every year, they make that poor boy perform that song. So sad that he's a one-hit wonder, really." She rubs her cheeks as if to massage away any unhappy thoughts and then smiles. "And now, to quote Haymitch, I think I need a drink. Angus was telling me your little friend brewed some beer for tonight. I'm not much of a beer drinker, but perhaps the occasion warrants it. Shall we, dear?"

I jolt in recognition as Brue starts to sing. It's a song about young love, crushes, and that heady feeling of getting to know someone and realizing they like you too. Suddenly, accompanying Effie to the bar seems like a good idea. And if I look back at him once or twice, I'll never admit it.

-o—

Brue finds me leaning against the wrought iron balcony in the back corner of the patio. "Hey. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to. You didn't stay to listen to my set?"

"Hey, yourself. Nah. I have enough Hanson at home." I don't let on that the sight of him covered in a blonde named Clarissa made me bolt.

His chuckle is barely audible. "I'm going to grab something to drink. Can I get you anything?"

"You want this? It's a little too hoppy for me." I pass him the half full pint glass.

"Thanks." He takes a sip, considers it for a second, then takes another.

We let the quiet descend as we each look out at the manicured lawn, listening to the strains of bagpipes from the front of the house.

"Angus's neighbors must love him."

"Most of them come tonight, or are out of town."

"Ah." The old goat has a way to solve every problem, which makes me want to smile. "Did I know you had a chart-topper?"

He shrugs with one shoulder and bows his head. "It only made it to the top 20." He pauses for a second, then adds quietly, "Dad was pretty pissed about that. He thought it should have done better."

"Because it was you performing it?"

He turns to face me. "Because it was _him_ producing it. Dance?" He pushes away from the balcony, puts down his glass and holds out his hands.

This time I don't hesitate, not until his hands settle with familiar weight on my waist. By the time the heat of his palms reaches my skin, my hands are sliding up his lapels. I savor the feel of the wool. "Your blonde friend seems familiar. And _friendly._ "

If I expect him to be shocked at my directness, I'm disappointed. He frowns and answers, "Clarissa just doesn't know when to quit."

"So you guys were close?"

"She's the one who…" He trails off, like he doesn't know how to describe it. Finally, he finishes with, "She hurt me."

I don't know what to say to that. But if I wanted to claw her lipstick off before, now I want to rip every hair from her head. Instead, I step a little closer, sliding my hands past his bowtie to rest at the back of his neck. He shifts his hands to my hips to accommodate my new nearness and lets out a heavy breath. I'd ask what it's for, but my fingers are too busy re-learning the crispness of the curls against his collar. His thumbs trace circles against the satin of my dress.

"Seems like your dad pushes you pretty hard." That's not my best choice of words, especially since all I can think of right now is how he felt when I rode him in the front seat of his car.

He doesn't answer for a long minute and I glance up. It's a mistake, because his eyes are fixated on my mouth and I know I'm not the only one struggling with the memory of how we were together. My fingers tighten. That's all it takes for him to drop his mouth to mine and explore, gently stroking my lips with his. I'm not sure why he's coaxing when he must know I'm more than ready to take it further. Impatiently, I swipe my tongue underneath his top lip, smiling in triumph when he deepens the kiss and his hands slide lower on my hips, pulling me closer.

We break for air. I can feel the cool night air against my heated cheeks. "Is that the tassel on your sock I feel against my calf?"

He nuzzles my ear and I can practically hear the eye roll. "It's my garter flash."

I get the giggles at the idea of him in garters and the word _flash_. He bites down on my earlobe in warning. "I told you I'm wearing garters." When I don't stop giggling, he adds, "I don't make fun of your underwear."

I don't even think before I answer, "That's because I'm not wearing any."

His fingers tighten on my hips as he smirks. When his lips brush across mine, sparking heat, I almost don't register it when he says, "That's good because neither am I."

-o-

"We've got to stop." Brue says breathlessly a little later.

I nip at his full lower lip. Sure, I know he's right and we can't actually have sex on his grandfather's balcony – the railing that's digging into my back is too uncomfortable for that. But I'm still fantasizing about the two of us lifting our skirts and having our wicked way with one another. He must have similar thoughts because his hands have been roaming with a mind of their own. Not that I mind.

"Okay. Let's stop." I lean in for another kiss. How is it possible that hoppy beer tastes so good on his tongue?

"Jo," he groans, dragging his hands up my throat to hold my jaw gently while we kiss.

I pull my mouth away and trail it across the rasp of stubble to his ear. "You don't smell like you tonight."

"What?"

"Normally you smell like chlorine. You don't tonight." I lick the spot underneath his ear for good measure.

"I haven't been in the pool since the start of break. Dad's got me doing work around the studio."

I pull back to look at him. He's flushed and thoroughly kissed. Even his hair is tousled. I wonder if he has any idea how insanely attractive he is at this moment, but I'm distracted from telling him by a faint buzzing that's coming from somewhere nearby. "Don't go getting soft on me over break, MacLeod," I say instead as I look for my clutch.

"I think I can find a way to stay hard," he answers drolly.

I roll my eyes at his double entendre and check my phone. Three missed messages from Katniss. _Fuck._

"Everything alright?" he asks, reaching to pull me in closer to his chest.

I impatiently wave him off as I hit dial. Already a bad feeling pools in my gut. I don't even let Katniss answer properly before I ask, "What's going on?"

And just like that, the bubble of happiness that surrounds me bursts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Postpartum Depression is real. It can be slight, or it can be debilitating. Even the baby blues can seem overwhelming on some days. If you have a friend who's had a baby, offer to help: a few extra hours of sleep, a nutritious meal, even just someone to take a walk with can help. If symptoms seem persistent, urge her to talk to her doctor: every woman is different. Every pregnancy is different. More resources are available at postpartum dot net.
> 
> Annie faces challenges breastfeeding. If you have a friend who is trying to breastfeed or would just like to learn more about it, Medela and La Leche League both have excellent web sites.
> 
> Please, no breast versus bottle hate. A healthy child is everyone's desired outcome.


	35. Walls and Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: breastfeeding, postpartum depression, references to S&M, glass therapy

"What the hell happened?" The minute I walk through the door, I take in Katniss's frazzled face. She's walking Sam and cooing to him, trying to get him to sleep. It won't be easy, though, because Annie's sobs make enough noise to wake up the rest of the floor. "You can't quiet her down?"

If looks could kill, I'd be shot through the heart. "Her? I'm a little busy here, trying to deal with Sam! When she cries, he cries. Then she cries harder...you get the picture."

"Fuck," I mutter. I approach Annie and soften my voice, "Annie, hey. You're alright, you're safe." She lets me sit next to her and stroke her arm.

"Jo-o?" She sniffles. "You're ho-ome?"

"Yeah. It was beautiful. Do you want to hear about it?"

I play a hunch that hearing all the little details – from food to the Christmas tree – will calm Annie down. I turn out to be right, and she eventually allows me to change her into pajamas she hasn't leaked all over, then put her to bed. Katniss gets Sam settled at the same time. By the time we're both done and I've changed and taken off my makeup, another hour has passed with no sign of Finn.

"Where the fuck is he? Did he say anything to you before he left?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Just that he was going out. But he got dressed up – he had on a tie when he left."

"Ah." There's only one person who gets Finn Odair into a tie. I wonder what Finn's dad used to lure him away from Sam and Annie tonight.

Katniss sighs and covers her arm with her eyes. "I'm sorry that I called you, but Annie was worse tonight. Sam woke up fussy and wouldn't stop when she tried to feed him. He kept pushing her away. Finally, I took him – it was just a dirty diaper – but Annie wouldn't take him back when I was done. And she started to sob pretty uncontrollably when I prepped formula for him. It's like she doesn't think she can feed him, but she doesn't want him to have formula, either."

We're quiet for almost a full minute before she says what we're both thinking, "What happens when we all go back to class and she's alone with him?"

I don't have an answer for her.

Just then, we hear the front door. I motion to Katniss that I've got this and tell her she should get some rest. Then I get up to greet Finn.

"Where the fuck have you been?" My voice is soft but accusatory, especially when I smell beer on him. "And did you _drive_ after you had a beer? Are you insane?"

He smacks my hand away when it pokes his shoulder. "Dad bought me dinner and it was only one beer." He grabs orange juice from the fridge and takes a deep drink from the carton.

I have to stop myself from gagging. "Will you stop doing that? We all drink that juice!"

He turns and leans back on the counter. When he obviously ignores my request and takes another swig, I explode, "You left Katniss here _by herself_ to deal with Annie and Sam because your dad decided it was time to take you to dinner? Nice going, Finn."

He calmly puts the carton back in the fridge. "Jo, you sound like a fishwife. Calm your tits: I asked him, not the other way around."

"What?" I'm incredulous. Finn's never approached his dad for anything, especially since he does nothing but let him down. "You suddenly want a relationship with that man?"

Finn's smile slips. "I went to see him about a job."

"A job? A modeling job?" It's the only job I know of that his dad can get him, especially on short notice. But Finn's never really needed a job that covers more than incidentals. "Why, Finn?"

He nods and looks away. "His agent met us; they think they can get me some work. It will really help things around here, Jo." He scrubs his hair. "Insurance didn't cover as much of the delivery as I'd hoped, and the lifeguarding isn't going to cover food and diapers and wipes and everything else. Who knows what else Annie's going to need, especially with the way she's been lately? And Dad stopped paying the rent here when I told him I'd gotten married."

"What about Annie's family? Her trust fund?"

"She can't touch it until she's twenty-one, and I don't want to ask them for help. I don't know what else to do." When he looks back at me, there are tears in his eyes.

"I had no idea, Finn. That fucking bastard!" I reach out and grab him in a hug. If I didn't hate Mr. Odair before, I certainly do now. I can't believe he would effectively railroad Finn into doing one thing he swore he would never do.

Finn sniffs. "Annie can't know yet. Okay, Jo? Promise me. I don't want to add this to all the pressure she's under."

I pull back and consider his pale, teary request. I don't think it's a good idea to keep this from her, but what do I know? Maybe there's no harm in it. "Ok."

-o—

" _Come on, Jo." Brue's eyes sparkle as he tugs me forward, even though I can't shake the feeling that I've been here before. The dark hallways wind ahead of us and only Brue is sure footed, half-cajoling and half-teasing as he pulls me forward with his kisses. So many kisses. Soft and hard and pleading and teasing, it's the kisses more than whatever he says that keep me moving. Until I see the glint of light on water. I know this place: it's the tank where I'll see my sister floating, dead._

_I cover my eyes and turn my back._

" _Jo, it's alright. I promise, it' alright." Brue coaxes softly, but I shake my head. I won't turn and I won't drop my hands._

_His voice disappears._

_Pretty soon, I realize I can't hear anything. Am I still in the same place? I drop my hands slowly, but it's hard to see anything in the dim light. "Brue?" I call his name cautiously into the quiet. There's no response. Finally, I have to risk it and turn around._

_Carys and Brue stand together. She's wearing a pink princess nightgown and a tiara, hopping foot to foot and pointing at me in excitement. She says something that I can't hear – it must be my name because Brue nods. They both wave, their smiling faces so near that I want to reach out and touch them or grab them to me in a hug. I'm so relieved to see her. So relieved this is no longer a nightmare._

" _Brue! Carys!" I yell. They don't seem to hear me. And when I raise my arms and try to move toward them, my movements are as slow as molasses. I collide with something; some barrier that keeps me from them._

_That's when I realize that I'm the one floating in the tank._

"Jo! Wake up! Jo!" Katniss hisses from her sleeping bag. "You were having a nightmare," she explains after I grunt that I'm awake.

I have to clear my throat to relax it from the dream-scream. "Thanks." I know she gets that I don't really want to talk about it, but she's so damn quiet that I have to say something. "It was Carys. And Brue."

"Oh?"

Her voice drifts to me in the dark. I think back to floating in that tank, powerless to reach out and touch the people beyond it. "Do you… Do you think I'm hard to love?" It's my worst fear, really, next to clowns, shark attacks, and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. That I'm hard to love. Or worse yet, that I don't deserve to be loved. And now that Brue has much confirmed that's how he sees me…

I'm afraid she's fallen asleep when I don't hear anything for a long while. Finally, there's a sigh in the darkness as she shifts. "God, Jo. I don't know what to say. I guess, yes? Yes, you are."

 _Shit._ It's not unexpected, but it still hurts like an arrow to the heart.

She continues, "But there will be someone who will brave your dragon-tongue and moodiness and perfectionism. And he will be not just accepting of those things, but will seek them out and thrive on them. He will be your confidante and your biggest cheerleader. He will learn about you and be unafraid of what you have to show him. And he will demand the same from you."

I pause for a second, the image of a pair of blue sparking eyes stuck in my head. _It's just the dream, Jo_. "Is Peeta those things for you?" She never talks about her feelings for Peeta – honestly, for a chick, she's pretty cagey – and I'm genuinely curious.

I hear her fluffing her pillow. "Peeta makes it easy: it doesn't feel like he demands much at all. Like he's just happy to have me there."

Well, duh, he is. "You know he loves you, though. Right?"

"Jo, I'm tired."

That's Everdeen speak for _I do not want to talk about this right now._ I let her off the hook because I owe her for taking care of Annie and Sam tonight, alone. And I throw in a bonus. "I'll get up for the next feeding, since I'm awake anyway."

"Damn straight you will. You owe me, Mason."

"Shut up, Everdeen, or I'll have to hurt you."

"I'd like to see you try," she jokes back.

"'Night, Katniss."

"'Goodnight."

I don't want to keep her awake, so I grab my laptop and head out to the living room. I can put on some headphones, maybe, and drown out Brue's voice echoing inside my head that's still on a loop from earlier. Eventually, I give up the fight and just let the memory play back.

" _Jo, what's going on? Who was that?"_

_I hang up the phone, disconnecting Katniss and a wailing Sam. She sounds strung-out and completely fried. I can almost hear Cinderella's clock striking twelve: it's time for me to leave. The sparkling party, this unbelievably perfect guy – it was never for me._

" _I've got to go." I can't tell him more, really, because I don't know exactly what the problem is. It's maddening._

_He steps toward me. "Why are you so afraid to rely on me? To trust me? I can help." He spreads his hands out, palms upward._

_That just pisses me off. "We've got it handled - I just need to get back to Finn's. Now, please move."_

" _No. Tell me what I did? You've stopped coming by the frat house almost at all. It's like you're shutting me out. Every time I get close to you – Halloween, tonight – it's like you push me away. Why, Jo?"_

_I'm furious with him for both bringing up those nights and demanding an explanation. How dare he? "I push you away? Me? This is coming from the guy who can turn on like a light switch whether he wants to be around me or not! Let me tell you, Brue MacLeod, Chaucer is easier to read than you are."_

_The voice from my dreams is back when he says, "Which one do you prefer? Do you want the friend and running buddy? Or kisses in the moonlight followed by your body underneath me in the dark?"_

_He steps closer, then closer still. I'm not sure if it's his proximity, the magic of the night, or his words that pull me back under. Whatever it is, my anger is gone. When he raises a hand to my cheek, I grip it there with my own. It takes me a second of feeling his body heat to calm my thundering heart._

_Finally I close my eyes and whisper, "You never asked me to stay. I thought…I thought the car and the bathroom were one-time things."_

_I feel his the rumble of his laughter. "Clearly not, since it keeps happening." His voice is as gentle as his fingers tracing my cheek. "Would you have stayed?"_

_I don't have an answer. He must be able to see it in my eyes – the confusion and hurt and whatever else is jumbled up inside me. I hate that I'm so bare, so vulnerable. Ever the gentleman, he steps away with a nod. His frown is dark. "Is it still him?"_

_I think of Annie, holding back sobs as she counts to one hundred over and over to keep from falling apart as Sam breastfeeds. Of Sam and his lusty wails that seem to scare her. I shake my head and my voice is firm. "This has nothing to do with him."_

_I can tell he's not convinced by the way his eyebrows pull together. "Then let me help."_

_I shake my head and look for my purse, which I find under a chair in a dark corner of the balcony. When his voice, low and deadly serious, reaches me, I freeze._

" _You make it so hard to love you, sometimes."_

_There's no response to that, no way to analyze all of the pieces of that sentence that make me alternate between hot and cold. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk away._

-o-

School starts. By unspoken agreement, Katniss, Madge, and I take care of Sam when Finn's on campus, but we also expand it to a few nights a week at his place. Tuesday night dinners are still at the frat. Annie never comes, so Peeta takes to making to-go portions of whatever we've had. I notice the bags get bigger as time passes. I can't help but wonder if that's because he knows that Finn's place now supports almost half of our little group.

Brue and I don't talk much: spending time at Finn's cuts into my run time. More importantly, I can't get that last fight out of my head, or the fact that he thinks I'm too hard to love. Not worth the effort. Undeserving. I tell myself – and Dr. A. – that it's better this way. I don't have time for some romantic entanglement that I would end up screwing up, especially not with Brue MacLeod. My nightmares call me a liar, though.

I still run when I can't sleep. It's a good thing that Finn's given me a key, because I add his place to my ever-lengthening route when the dreams won't give me any relief. Sometimes I make it all the way back to the dorm. But sometimes I just crash at his place, too exhausted to make the return trip. Annie seems to appreciate the company on those nights, too, especially when I take to counting with her in the dark. Finn always gives me a ride home the next day. I don't think about how that looks to anyone else, because, well, I don't care.

It's a typical Wednesday night and I can't sleep. Finally, I give up trying and throw on my sneakers. I make a mental note that it's time to retire this pair then I'm out the door and strapping my phone onto my arm. I cue up some Macklemore, stretch for half a second or two, then get my body moving. I want to run until I can't feel anything but my feet slap the pavement. Until I can't think of anything but the way the blood feels as it pumps through my body. I just want to get lost.

I'm just entering what I call _the dead zone_ – that area right before downtown proper that's a little on the sketchy side and makes me edgy – when I see oncoming headlights. Normally, that sight doesn't make me nervous. On this particular stretch of road, though, after midnight, my pulse rate jumps just a little. That little bump becomes a big one when the car slows. The passenger window is down, I can tell, so I convert all of my adrenaline to kinetic energy and bolt past it, hoping I can outrun whomever it is that's decided they want a piece of me.

I'm almost to the next cross-street when someone grabs my arm.

The scream that's been at-the-ready in the back of my throat bursts out. It pierces the air louder than anything coming from my ear buds, but it's not enough to make the perp let go. I'm not giving up yet. Not even close. I slam my body back against his – he gives an _oof!_ at the impact – but his vice grip still holds. I know I've got to break that hold in order to shake him. So, in a move that Peeta would be proud of, I ram my elbow as hard as I can into his rib cage. I feel the vibration of the impact all the way to my toes and my funny bone actually hurts from the hit. I don't stop to think: I twist to the right to break his loosened grip and get away.

Except that the twist brings me face to face with a very winded, very angry Brue. When he sees me recognize him, he relaxes and rests both arms on his knees to catch his breath.

"What are you doing here?" I rub my elbow, so pissed I can't even see straight. I wonder what he would do if I hit him again.

He sucks in air like it's an experiment and rubs his ribs. "Jesus, Jo, nice hit. Katniss texted me. She said you had run off and she was worried you would come this way."

"So you thought you would come rescue me?"

He must see something threatening on my face because he holds a hand out to ward me of. "Please don't hit me again. Yeah, basically. We came looking for you, but you didn't stop when I yelled."

"As you can see, I'm fine."

He nods. "True. But I'm here to take you back to school."

He's got to be fucking kidding me. "And if I say no?"

He stands and narrows his eyes. "Then I'll go get Katniss from the car and see if she can talk some sense into you."

Sure enough, when I look over his shoulder I can see Katniss's face pressed to the window. I know better than to want to kick her ass for dragging him into this. She might look all friendly, but I know that she could go all honey-badger on me at any minute. I look between the two of them, but there's really no choice: I've been standing still so long that my fatigue and adrenaline shakes hit me like a freight train. All I want is to sit down. I think I hear Brue mumble something that sounds like, "You need a LoJack ankle bracelet" as he ushers me into the passenger side. I ignore it and try to get my still-racing heartbeat under control with Annie's counting. It works: oddly enough, by the time I've counted to fifty I feel more in control.

"This isn't the dorm." Brue's parking on Jefferson, which makes no sense because it's at least a quarter mile to either the frat or Trojan Hall.

He sends me a dark look and puts the car in park more forcefully than necessary. "I was in one of the studios getting a jump on my midterm project when Katniss texted. So, since you guys now owe me, you can help." He must not like my cocked eyebrow, because he explains, "She owes me for sending me on this wild goose chase. And you owe me for that hit. Good thing it's the off season, or coach would kill you." He grimaces and rubs his upper abs again for good measure.

I snort because he totally deserved it for scaring me. And I have to admit that I'm a little curious about who he is when he plays: the few glimpses I've gotten have been interesting and intense. It will be another piece of the puzzle that helps me figure him out. Of course, I don't want to appear too eager, so I say, "Sure thing, Cody Simpson. I'm happy to help you out with your boy-band audition tape."

An hour later I'm not fascinated. I'm bored as hell.

Brue had pulled me into a small control room, pointed at a mixing board and said, "Sit here and keep an eye on these levels. I don't want to peg any of them with the settings I've got." He had guided Katniss into room with a microphone, a couple of pairs of big headphones like the ones in the booth, and a Casio keyboard. Oh, sure, hearing him at the keyboard warming up while he had explained that he needed Katniss to be a back-up singer – a freaking _back-up singer_ —was hilarious. But it had pretty much gone from interesting to yawnsville almost right away. Who knew that recording had nothing to do with actually performing a song? No, it was three million tracks layered on top of each other, each with a different setting on the mixing board. Really, it wasn't like he had needed me at all.

And the fact that he's re-recording and remixing his own one-hit wonder? It's so trite, so pathetic, so _uncreative,_ that it just makes me want to hit him again.

I listen to Brue and Katniss argue like Celine Dion and Meatloaf trying to figure out what it is that he won't do for love. My eyelids get heavier and heavier as they bicker and try things out, then bicker some more. Finally it's all too much and I close my eyes for just a second. Just one. Just until the music starts.

That's how I end up asleep in the booth.

-o-

By the end of January, we need to blow off some steam. No one objects when Finn says he wants to go to the beach. Frankly, I'm stunned that Annie agrees to it because the sheer amount of baby gear to bring with us is daunting. We pile in cars and head to Malibu, then set ups blankets, towels, umbrellas, chairs, and even a small hibachi for later.

Finn pulls out two boogie boards and gives lessons. Everdeen is, surprisingly, a natural, as is Madge. Gale and Brue start tossing around a football. Peeta stays in the shallows, although he does take off his shirt. He's more pasty-white than Madge and I hope he's using at least SPF 50. I'm sure it's not because he's pale that Katniss keeps sneaking glances his way. Those glances almost make me feel bad that Annie and Finn have taken some of her nights away from Peeta.

Almost.

Despite how far away they are from the water, I can't handle knowing that Annie and Sam are even on the beach. Maybe it's the nightmares, or the lack of sleep, or the fact that I can still close my eyes and conjure the real image of Carys floating in our pool. Whatever it is, I'm terrified that Finn's going to decide Sam needs to learn to swim, or that Annie will go wading with him, so I head to the cliffs without a backward glance. What I can't see can't hurt me, right?

I find a little alcove where I can chill by myself and spend who-knows-how-long digging in the cool sand. I let my thoughts wander for a good long time and just lose myself in the rhythmic scratching. I empty everything I have into that hole: as it gets deeper, I get lighter. Emptier.

A long while later, I'm the proud creator of a three-by-two-by-two hole. I shudder when I realize how much it resembles a child's grave. Everything feels gritty, my hands, my eyes, even my tears as they slide silently down my cheeks. I have no idea how long I sit beside the chasm and stare at the horizon while the sun burns me with a cleansing heat. Maybe I end up in a trance, or maybe I fall asleep. Either way, I come to shivering, sandy, and sunburned when a shadow covers me.

"Hey." Brue is wet and breathing hard, like he just swam laps.

"Hey." My voice is scratchy, like every other part of me. I wish I had been smart enough to bring some water with me because I'm parched.

"I was wondering where you'd run off to." His voice is as guarded as his stance. I guess that's what happens when you leave a bruise on someone that takes a week to heal.

My eyes drift to the hole I've dug and my gut clenches. I stand and try to brush off some of the sand, but I know that I'm particularly crispy on the shoulders and the tops of my breasts just from the briefest of touches. If I feel that way now, it's only going to get worse as the day wears on. _Scratch bottled water. I should have put on sunscreen._

I shrug mentally and start walking. He lags behind, so I say over my shoulder, "Hey, Hunter Hayes. You can come along – I'm not going to hurt you."

"You will when I tell you that the tide came in and the only way to get back to the beach is to get in the water."

I hiss like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"I'll help you, Jo. And before you say you don't need it, I know you can handle anything. I think you proved that already." He rubs his ribs where my elbow left its mark. "Come on." He walks to where I'm stuck in the sand with feet like lead. When he's next to me, he clasps my hand loosely in his.

I remember making fun of Peeta and Katniss on Parents' Weekend for their big debate over holding hands. But as Brue's hand grips mine, I finally get it. He doesn't let go, not even when I balk at putting so much as a toe in the water, insisting that I climb the rocks instead. And when I do let go to better grip the rock face for balance, he waits for me, patiently. He's there to swing me down to dry sand from the last rock with both concern and pride mingling on his face. I wonder how he's figured out that water is my kryptonite.

That look – his awareness of my secret – it all pisses me off.

"You didn't have to help me."

"I know." He's cheerful, relaxed as he lopes next to me. Like we just finished ten miles or fought a dragon.

I frown. "No, I mean, why do you? You _always_ help. Even when I don't deserve it. Especially because I've never done anything for you." I want to add, _even though I'm hard to love._

He stops and tugs on my hand: we're standing close enough that I can see where his chest stubble is growing out; close enough that I can smell the Coppertone on his skin. I squint against the glare as I look into his eyes. I don't get why he haunts me, this boy. But it dawns on me for the very first time how much he's there for me. And I suddenly wonder if I haunt him, too.

He blinks at me and I stare at him. Time spins out like we're the only two people on the planet.

"Watch out!"

I barely hear Finn's yell before the football hits so close to us that we're both coated in sand, spitting it out of our mouths and wiping our faces. The moment is gone, at least for me, and all my walls are back in place. "You guys are assholes," I say as I walk past Finn and flip him off.

Finn grins his cockiest grin. "Come on, Jo, give me a break. It was either you, or the lovebirds over there." He jerks his head toward an umbrella covered blanket in the near-distance where a couple is making out with such intensity that I feel bad for watching. Well, almost.

Now, I know that I've told you about Katniss and Peeta's first kiss. Remember the one where she hopped onto him like that chick in _The Notebook?_ Yeah. Just bask in that mental image for a minute, because I am. Just thinking about that kiss erases the weird blankness I felt before Brue showed up.

Got that image in your head? Because this kiss is _hotter_. If that one was all pent up, wild desperation, this one is languorous. There's jaw and tongue – visible tongue—and hands that grip and stroke. It helps that there's an advance state of undress, but I'm telling you right now, this is a "fuck me" kiss. It's like they're putting together an homage to Ginuwine right on this very beach. I fully expect that Peeta's deep sea oil rig is gonna drill sooner rather than later, especially when Katniss's hands disappear from behind his neck to trail somewhere on his chest. Or maybe lower, I can't tell from this angle. Watching Everlark Skinemax actually makes me feel more like myself, so it's totally worth the creep factor.

"Taking notes, Jo?"

Fucking Hawthorne. I flip my pony tail in the universal girl signal for _Go Fuck Yourself._ "Just making sure they've got it right, Kitten."

His eyes narrow at the nickname and he palms the football like he's assessing whether he can get away with chucking it at me again.

I can't help but piss him off more when I say sweetly, "Go ahead and try it. I know you secretly want Madge to use my hairbrush when she spanks you tonight. Or is tonight strap-on-and-pound-that-ass night?"

"Children!" Madge emerges from the small pop-up tent grinning and shaking her head. "Johanna, no one's ass is getting pounded tonight."

Finn winks and joins in the game. "Well, that's a pity."

Gale actually looks a little disappointed by her statement. Honestly, Madge is showing enough skin in her silver bikini that _I'm_ a little disappointed on his behalf. Sure, Hawthorne's not my favorite person, but Madge's swimsuit must have been priced by the square inch. He deserves at least a little taste of the flesh buffet laid out so temptingly in front of him.

"Where's Sam?" I ask Finn. I try to control the little bubble of panic that simmers just below the surface at the fact that I don't see him or Annie.

"In the tent taking a nap. I just checked on him," Madge answers.

"Annie's not with him?"

She shakes her head at my question, smacking lightly at Gale's hand which has slid from her waist to toy with the ties on her suit bottom. "She's taking a swim."

Annie loves the water, and I hope the swim helps clear her head. Frankly, I'm just glad she didn't take Sam with her into the water. "Sounds like the perfect time to fire up the grill." I turn and yell at the distant couple who are so intent on sandblasting their pink parts, "Hey lovebirds! We're hungry!"

They break apart so quickly, so guiltily, that I chortle. I turn to Madge with some quip about how I never knew blue balls could look so red but stop and turn back toward the water. Because I see waves and a few boats, but I don't see Annie. "Guys, does anyone see Annie?"

Brue spots her after a tense thirty seconds that has my heart pounding. "There," he points. "She's pretty far out." He doesn't have to be an open book for me to read the tension in his voice. "Finn, what do you think?"

Finn's frowning too. "She's a great swimmer, but she's got to be getting tired. Maybe I should head out there too."

"You sure? I don't want to have to come in after both of you, and there's no lifeguard on duty."

"Yeah. We'll be fine."

Finn heads to the water as a reluctant Katniss and Peeta wander over to get the grill started. Gale and Brue help while Madge and I watch Finn swim out with sure, even strokes. "Love is weird." I'm surprised at how wistful I sound.

"It's not so weird when you're in it." Her eyes drift to Gale, who's shrieking that Katniss is a girl on fire. He looks like an idiot while an unamused Katniss points the lighter fluid in his direction.

I snort. "Yeah. He's a real catch, alright." I realize my mistake when her steely blue eyes clash with mine. So I backpedal, "I'm just saying that I don't want to get hurt. You and Gale are death by a thousand paper cuts, giving each other boo boos and then smacking Band-Aids on each other."

"You mean because we like to goad each other?"

"That, and whatever else it is you do when you're alone." I shudder and hold up a hand when she goes to open her mouth. "No, please don't tell me. I really don't want to know how much of what I imagine is real."

She smirks, like she still might give me a play by play just to make me suffer. I know I'm safe, though, when her gaze finds Finn and Annie. When she finally speaks, her voice is thoughtful, "You don't get it. Do you have any idea how much trust it takes to let someone hurt you? To invite them in and be vulnerable to them, knowing that they have that power?"

I think about Brian and handcuffs in a dark room and the strange rush of giving myself over to him completely.

Madge continues, "Just giving them that power – that's transformative. It makes you both mindful of the love and _trust_ behind the pain. It's very intense, to be that aware and in sync with another's limits."

"Sounds kinky." At her dirty look, I snicker. "Look. You're trying to tell me that S&M is about trust and love and not about partners hurting each other."

I don't think I've heard the sarcastic tone Madge adopts before. "Grow up, Jo. Partners hurt each other, and it doesn't take a hairbrush or whip. I'm telling you that it's about growing and learning about each other. Yes, there's hurt – what relationship doesn't have that? – but it's in a safe environment where we can give _and_ take, each what we need. We can let go and live in the moment, no outside anxieties, no insecurities. It reaffirms for us both that we want to be together and, by trusting the other explicitly with our very safety, we end up healing each other."

My flippant remark dries up at that, so I shrug. It's the wrong thing to do.

When she turns to me, she's got the bad-ass look that scares me a little. "I expected you to understand that some scars are on the inside and some bruises don't go away easily. I made the choice to work through my issues this particular way, and it's helping. What about you, Jo? Are you going to take a chance, ever? Or are you just going to hide behind your sarcasm and your judgments and your one-night stands? We don't mock you for your choices, so don't belittle us for ours."

I swallow hard and blink back tears. Madge has never turned her talons on me. In all the time I've known her, she's been nothing but an ally. Which is why it's not just my sunburn that hurts when she pokes me with a shell-pink manicured fingernail and says, "Whatever you decide, do not push that onto Annie. Her son needs her. If she builds a wall and hides behind it, we'll never get her back."

I nod numbly, not even sure what I'm agreeing to. Madge's ponytail swishes like a pissed-off cat's tail. _Make this right, Jo._ I want Madge back on my team, so I find my chastened voice. "I'm sorry."

She turns back to the horizon and doesn't say anything for a while. We both study where Finn and Annie have finally turned back to shore and I wonder if I should suck up or something. Maybe tell her how much I like having her as a friend. I don't get the chance.

"She's not getting better, is she?" Madge frowns as the couple draws near enough for us to see their faces: Finn's tired, his lack of pool-time showing in the tired slope of his shoulders. It's Annie that looks completely exhausted, though, and her lips are pale from being in water that can't be more than sixty degrees.

I haven't even strung those words together in my head, that's how fearful they make me. But now that Madge has, it's a relief to admit the truth. "No. No, she's not." I think about the crying when she pumps less than two ounces, her panic fits that last hours if Sam cries while she holds him.

Madge crosses her arms and jerks her head in a single nod. "I'll make some calls," she says with a swish of her ponytail as she turns and strides away. It feels like a door slamming in my face.

-o—

I've got the short straw on babysitting duty for Valentine's Day: it seems that every single one of my friends is doing something romantic except for me. Something cutesy. Something that doesn't require batteries. Finn's taking Annie out to a nice dinner. Peeta's got a private dance class lined up for him and Katniss, which makes me want to cackle because they are _so_ not Fred and Ginger. And Undersee? I don't even want to think what sort of Underthorne trouble she and Gale are going to get into.

Scratch that – I sort of do. At least, I want to contribute to it. Because I still feel bad about our argument on the beach, and I've thought a lot about what she said. She's right that I don't take chances, not on love. How did Brue put it? I don't make it easy. And I want Madge to know that I don't judge her or her choices. Just because I wear a mask doesn't mean she has to.

So when Madge breezes in the door – all the girls are getting ready at Finn's – I try to hug her. Operative word there is _try,_ because she's got her arms full with shopping and garment bags. I can clearly see what looks like a tarp, a glassware set, and safety glasses right next to her fuck-me pumps and makeup case.

"If that's a housewarming gift, I'm afraid to ask what it is," I say.

"It's just a little something I thought I might show Annie."

I grumble, "Well, I hope you brought some tequila for those glasses, at least."

Madge just smiles angelically while Katniss and Annie descend on her.

Annie's doing better, although she's only been on meds for a week. Turns out there's some sort of rich-people bat phone: Madge got in touch with the Crestas, who found a local doctor for Annie on the recommendation of Elizabeth MacLeod. Turns out one of her granddaughters had a case of postpartum that was pretty bad so she knows a specialist in the L.A. area….yada yada.

Bottom line is that we finally have a diagnosis, and Annie's finally gotten help.

The next hour or two passes by in a fit of giggling and dancing and carrying on. I manage to pull Madge away from the mirror for a minute. "Hey, I got you something," I say as I hand her a small gift bag. At her raised eyebrow, I add uncomfortably, "Well, its' actually for you and Gale."

She roots around in the tissue. "A blindfold, lube and a waterproof anal probe?"

I nod nervously. "Yeah. I didn't know if you had one already. And it was either this or a set of body lotions from Bath and Body Works."

She carefully puts the gift away. "Thank you. Really, it's so thoughtful. Now, what is this about?"

I open my mouth and close it, sure I look like a fish. I'm not really prepared to answer a direct question about this. Finally, all I come up with is the truth. "I don't want you to think I judge you."

"Is this about the beach?"

I nod.

She sighs. "Jo, I was a bitch and should be the one apologizing. Maybe it was PMS or something…" She side-eyes the bag again and smiles like an angel with just a hint of devil. "But it's very sweet of you. And no, we don't have one." She winks and turns to walk back to where Annie has Katniss trapped in the bathroom with a curling iron.

"Wait! Madge, I thought about what you said and you were right: not only do I have no right to judge you - hell, at least you have a boyfriend! - I don't know the first thing about opening up to a guy. And I…I think you're really brave."

"Ah, Jo. You're just out of practice, that's all. You need to stop selling yourself short and stop going out with just any guy. You've said yourself that you barely talk with some of the guys you try to hook up with because you think they're only good for one thing. That's like buying a pair of shoes on sale, wearing them once and then complaining afterward because your feet hurt."

"Are you trying to tell me that I go for clearance cock?"

Madge laughs, but her blue eyes see right through me. "Yeah and there are three things you should never, ever buy on clearance: sushi, shoes, and men. They will all demoralize you and at least two of the three will leave you shaky in a horrible, vomit-filled aftermath. You deserve better than that."

She passes by her gift bag on the way to the bathroom and gives it a little pat. "Plus, the right guy makes the relationship fun."

Sam cries, so I go get from his crib. I can't help but ask him as I'm changing his soaked diaper, "Do you think relationships are fun, little man?"

-o-

Two hours later, Annie's frantic. "Where's Finn? He was supposed to be here an hour ago."

I wonder how long it's going to be until she hits a tailspin. As it is, it's remarkable that she's holding it together.

Surprisingly, though, it's Katniss who loses a gasket. "This is bullshit. Finn's late for his own Valentine's Day date? Annie says he's been coming home smelling like perfume and makeup at all sorts of hours of the day and night. How can he just expect her to sit by and watch while he goes out and does whatever it is that he's doing?"

Annie defends him quietly, "I'm sure there's a reason-"

"You know where he is, don't you?" Katniss whirls on me and I get the full, fearsome effects of Annie's makeover. It's not every day that Katniss wears makeup. That, coupled with the little black dress she's wearing, make her look like a totally different person. A _decidedly pissed_ person. One who's probably carrying a hunting knife in her backpack.

So I cave. Wouldn't you? I mean, between her dark anger, Madge's ice princess routine, and Annie looking like The Madonna while she breastfeeds Sam, I know I can't last under their combined scrutiny.

"Finn's modeling. He said he needed the money. Finn told me not to tell Annie. He said it would just worry her."

Annie leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes. I think the look I see on her face is relief, which makes sense when I think of what sorts of conclusions she's probably leapt to as Finn disappears for hours. The makeup she smells when he comes home is his. It's the perfume that I don't have a ready explanation for, which drives me to offer, "I'll call him."

It's Katniss who follows me into what I think of now as our bedroom. She waits while the call goes directly to voicemail, tapping her black-and-flame painted nails on her bare arm. "If you know where he is, let's go."

"Shouldn't you wait for Peeta?"

"Do you think I can just run off without knowing what's going on? No way. I'll call him and tell him I'll meet up with him at the studio." Her elaborate curls and braids swing and sway down her back, her black and silver eye makeup glittering almost as much as her eyes.

We drive to the studio in silence, Katniss tapping those fire-talons on the door. I finally feel like I can ask the question that's bugging me after I've punched in the 12th floor on the elevator buttons and we're on our way up. "You know, I think you're more pissed than Annie. Want to tell me what's up?"

"You don't have a problem with him lying to her?"

I shake my head: it's not the first time Finn's lied to a girl. Hell, it's actually progress that he wants to do it for the right reasons. "Annie seemed fine with it."

"She doesn't seem fine with him being late all the time and not calling to let her know. And then he doesn't pick up his phone, fully knowing that she's worried and sick and probably getting more upset by the minute. It's just…rude." If looks could kill, I'd be flat on the floor of the elevator right now.

"Jesus. Judge much? I'm sure he just got held up…Holy shit. This is because of your dad, isn't it? Your dad had an accident and you guys never heard from him. Fuck, Katniss, I'm sorry." She doesn't confirm it, but she doesn't deny it, either. She's actually been the on the wrong end of waiting for a phone call that never comes, waiting for someone who never shows to walk through the door.

So when she strides past me, stilettos clicking, I follow, giving her directions to the suite where Finn told me they'd be shooting. It's utter chaos inside. People are everywhere: some mill around; some move scenery, some just sip from expensive bottles of water. I'm relieved that the shoot is still obviously going on, and I can totally understand how Finn would miss his cell phone ringing if he's still here.

 _If_.

Katniss takes off, fueled by anger. I can barely keep up with her despite her heels and my longer stride. No one questions our presence. At least, not until I get stopped by a guy wearing skintight tiger print pants and a black t-shirt who asks where the dinner delivery is. I guess my jeans, _Naked Juice 5K_ t-shirt, and ponytail convey more of a "hired help" vibe than Katniss's little black dress and heels. I have to multi-task in order to argue with the much-pierced cat and keep an eye on Katniss as she cuts a swath across the floor.

"Dude, I am not here with dinner," I say vehemently. In another second she'll be out of sight.

He looks me up and down and cocks a wrist on his hip. "Well, who are you then? Because you are _obviously_ not a model."

 _Really?_ "You're right. I'm…uh…I'm Mr. Odair's personal shopper." I glom onto the first thing I can think of.

Again, he looks me up and down. He is definitely not impressed with whatever he sees.

 _Think, Jo._ "I'm here with his Valentine's gift for his wife. Very important. Time-sensitive, even." That's not really a lie. If I don't get to Finn before Katniss, I'm not sure what's going to happen.

He snorts like he's heard every story in the book from fans trying to get close to models. I wonder if he ever worries about lobotomy via a snorted nose-stud. "I'll escort you to him."

I've got to hand it to the Tiger – he's pretty efficient at navigating the maze of crap all over the floor. And he's got to be someone important because enough people approach him that he has to wave them off.

"We're almost there, sweetie. I'm sure Mr. Odair will be thrilled to see you." I don't miss the sarcasm in his voice, but I ignore it. It's not going to help me to get in a cat-fight, not when I've got Katniss practically shooting flames out of her eyeballs.

Somehow, this is not the night I envisioned when Finn asked me to babysit. I'm cataloging all the ways I'm going to make him and Katniss pay – starting with them doing my laundry for a month – when I plow into the surprisingly firm backside of my new friend with an _oof_!

"There he is, dear. Why don't you head on over and say hello? I'm sure he'll get a kick out of whatever gift you bestow on him." Again, he gives me a once-over and cocks an eyebrow. "Looks like you'll have to fight someone else off, first, though. Pity. You're such a delectable morsel."

I've had just about enough of his attitude and am about to give him a piece of my mind when I actually catch sight of Finn.

He and his dad are doing a shoot together, that much is obvious, along with the stylized beach theme. What's also pretty apparent is that the shot is semi-pornographic. Large fans simulate wind blowing through Finn's hair, spraying water droplets onto his posing form as well. The lighting is a warm gold that picks up the copper and honey highlights in his hair, every single ridge of his sculpted chest, and each detail of the trident tattoo. If he had a happy trail, it would glisten like the silver, blue, and green fake waves behind him, disappearing below a fishing net knotted at his waist.

I've seen this outfit. Finn wore this outfit to Halloween at the frat freshman year. But where that one was made of some sort of silky net and must have had some sort of undershorts, this is…nubby. More natural. It can't be comfortable, especially because I'm pretty positive from the shadows that he's not wearing a thing underneath. His dad is dressed similarly, the addition of a large seashell necklace and trident begging for a size joke. Or maybe a seniority one.

I don't make one, though. I push past the Tiger toward where Katniss stands off to the side, tapping her fingers on her crossed arms and glaring at Finn and his dad. Finn sees her and smirks, hopping off the rock where he's been posing, cameras clicking as he saunters over to the catering table, then to Katniss. He stops a dozen feet from her, joined by his dad who swirls his trident in a lazy circle that still comes across as menacing, then joins his son by leaning an arm on his shoulder. Really, the whole scene is one of suppressed homosexual need.

Okay. Maybe it's not so suppressed. Because Finn holds out something to Katniss with a look that is so blatantly sexual, so _come hither_ , that I hear at least one or two gasps and moans from woman on set. Katniss is not only unaffected, but she seems even more pissed.

"Sugar cube?" he drawls.

It dawns on me that's what he's holding between his thumb and forefinger: a single sugar cube. When she doesn't answer, he rubs the sugar cube against his bottom lip, balances it between his teeth and cuts through it with a resounding crunch. His eyes don't leave Katniss's and they practically smolder as he chews. He actually closes his eyes and licks a finger, causing another round of groaning from female and male bystanders alike.

He shakes his head and his eyes pop open to meet hers again. "So sweet." Katniss is still unaffected by his bullshit and he eyes her with openly sensual curiosity. "See something _Finnteresting_?" he finally asks.

Katniss sidles up to him. She leans into him slowly and deliberately, clenched hands unfurling as if to touch his manly chest. I think I hear the thud of someone fainting at the tension. She whispers something to him just as she pushes him away. Hard. I have no idea what the whisper was, but I have a feeling she's repeating it when she clearly enunciates, "You're pathetic."

I'm on her before Mr. Odair can call security. "Easy there, killer."

"Jo, what the fuck are you guys doing here?" Finn rubs his oiled chest like she actually did damage. _Please._

"What are we doing here? You were supposed to be home hours ago. Remember that little date you had planned _with your wife?_ " Katniss lunges menacingly at him. At least, it would be scary if she hadn't slipped on her heels so that my arm is all that's holding her up.

I practically push Katniss at my friend the Tigerwho's standing close enough to be shamelessly eavesdropping. "Would you please just go take a powder or something and let me talk to Finn?"

Finn's frown clears as she walks away. "I'll be done soon."

Even I'm miffed at how oblivious he is. "How soon is 'soon'? Annie's been ready for an hour now, and she's waiting for you patiently-"

"I've got to finish this shoot. It's important in helping me line up the next gig, Jo. Besides, Annie's patient. She'll understand."

My last little nerve starts twitching. "She'll be _patient?_ All she knows is that you come home smelling like perfume after disappearing for hours at a time without telling her where you're going. You don't call when you're going to be late, and she's just supposed to _understand?"_

"I'm doing it for her. And for Sam. I have to keep things moving. Keep talking to people, making deals, so I can keep working. I'm new to this industry, Jo, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. But it's not like your dad has zero pull. While you're out here _making deals_ , let me remind you that Annie is fighting for her life. _Her life,_ Finn."

"Don't you dare lecture me about Annie." His green eyes blaze with anger before he seems to recall where he is and a flippant, friendly mask falls over his face. "Someone's got to pay the bills, Johanna, and it takes people skills to do that. Who's going to take care of that? Annie's too sick. You and Katniss? I've got more charm in my left hand than the two of you have combined."

I recoil like I've been slapped: Finn never, ever talks to me that way. "Fuck you, Finn," I say, vehemently and turn on my heel to go find Katniss. It's the first time I've ever said those words to him and meant them.

I give my temper a second to calm before I throw over my shoulder, "You take your time. Katniss and I and our _limited people skills_ will be home, taking care of your wife and son."

-o—

"Ladies, I have just the thing for a girls' night in. Katniss, are you in?" Madge's changed her plans with Gale, which leaves Katniss the only one who might still be having a romantic evening.

"Oh, I'm in. Let me go tell Peeta and change out of this." She anticipates my frown and question. "Look, Jo, if I go out tonight, my mind will just be on you guys. It wouldn't be fair to him to do that, either. I'll just ask if he can reschedule for another night: Peeta will understand."

Of course he will. But it's still shitty. I mean, bugging out on Hawthorne I can understand, especially because someone will probably get punished for it - in the best way – later. But Peeta's a good guy. He doesn't deserve to be stood up on Valentine's Day just because Finn can't get his act together.

I wander forlornly to the dining room, where Madge and Annie have pizza waiting. She and Annie have changed out of their finery, and Annie's face is scrubbed clean of makeup. The evidence of her tears, though, isn't so easy to get rid of. I try to ignore her puffy face while I dish myself a piece of pepperoni, pineapple, and jalapeño. I top it with red pepper flakes and a dollop of ranch dressing – the full fat kind. "Does it involve emasculating a male?" I ask, licking ranch off my thumb.

Madge grins an evil, mischievous grin that lights her eyes. "Not quite, but it will feel just as good." She takes a bite of vegetable pizza. "It will give us a way to channel our anger."

Annie quietly munches on a slice of anchovy, garlic, and extra cheese. I idly wonder if she's working her own plan to get back at Finn as I shudder at the sight of the fish. "I'm not angry."

Katniss, tucks into a slice of Meat Lover's, extra meat. She groans in approval before saying, "How can you not be angry? Come on, Annie. Finn's being a total dick-head."

"Amen, sister." I hold up the ranch like it's a wine bottle and salute her.

Annie stares at her pizza like it holds the answer to all the world's problems. "He's been really patient with me all this time. Don't you think I owe it to him to be patient and let this go?"

I'm glad I'm not the only one who wants to smack her. Katniss actually pauses with her pizza mid-way to her mouth. The toppings begin to slide off the crust as she gapes. "No. _No._ God, Annie. You've been sick! I'm an expert at feeling like I have to even the score and even I know that you do not owe him for taking care of you when you're sick. You're his _wife,_ not a burden."

Madge lays her pizza down on her plate and daintily wipes her hands. "Ladies, I think it's time to work some of this out. Leave your dinners here and let's go bash some glass."

-o—

"Fuck. It's really coming down out there." I shake the rain off my hair as much as I can, dropping the handle of the ice chest and giving silent thanks one more time that it has wheels.

Katniss looks up from where she's making a small fire just inside the entrance of the small cave where we've taken shelter. "I know. There's no way we can sleep in the tent tonight; it's probably already got a roof leak."

Madge follows me into the cave, her arms full of bedding. "A camping trip for Spring Break may have been our dumbest idea yet."

Hands on my hips, I survey our hastily gathered supplies, then reply, "I don't know. I think giving a medicated girl a violent hobby to deal with her stress is up there too."

Madge rolls her eyes. "It worked, didn't it? And she knows to wear goggles while she does it. Besides, don't say that you didn't find the sound of glass exploding into millions of teeny pieces cathartic. I know I did."

Madge has been keeping Annie in a fresh supply of glassware to throw at the walls we've covered with tarps on the balcony. She swears that it helps if you think about one thing that really bothers you – not a person, but more like a problem or a specific issue you're facing - then imagine that you're smashing it apart. And honestly, it feels pretty amazing. Even Dr. A approves of it. My only concern is that it puts razor sharp glass in Annie's hands regularly. Sure, she's responding to her meds. But all it would take is one bad day and she's got motive and means to do something stupid. I have to keep reminding myself that there's a million other ways for her to hurt herself. And it, along with her meds, do seem to be helping: she seems calmer. Happier. Even when Finn is a total cocksucker to her, she carries herself with more dignity than I can muster.

Madge shrugs and pushes her blonde hair out of her face. "So what happens next? It's not like we can _do_ anything. You said this camping trip would be relaxing and fun. Now it's just… all washed up."

"We can still play cards or something." Katniss says thoughtfully. "What about _Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall_?" She laughs at my dirty look.

Madge frowns. "I was just going to suggest that we go home. I'm coldand wet." She shivers as if to punctuate her point.

I am vehement. "Madge, there is no way we can go home now: the guys will absolutely tell us _I told you so._ Remember how they laughed at the idea of us camping? Come on over to the fire and let's make s'mores or something."

Madge clearly does not have the same need save face, because she fires back, "Maybe they were right, Jo. Maybe camping in the L.A. National Forest in March wasn't a great idea. What if this rain turns to snow? We don't even have tire chains."

I can tell from the frown on Everdeen's face that she's buying Madge's argument. But I'm still not willing to give in and call it quits, though: this is our Spring Break. So I scoff at them both, "What are you two, pansies? We said we were coming out here to have the best Spring Break girls' night out ever and all you're doing is griping about how cold it is. Hell, I bet Katniss has killed and skinned at least one bear back home. If worst comes to worst, she can make us a pelt to keep us warm." I shoot her a warm smile, but Madge is right. It's freaking _cold_ even with the fire.

-o—

Three hours of staring at a campfire and about a half a dozen s'mores each and even I'm ready to call it quits. We're bored and there are only so many rounds of _Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall_ that someone can sing. Madge's teeth are chattering and Katniss has lapsed into sullen silence as she stares into the fire. I have to admit that I'm freezing too: even my Uggs and two layers of sweatpants can't stop me from being damp and cold. Plus, we're going to run out of dry firewood if we stay more than a few more hours.

"I'm sorry, guys." I sigh. "Maybe you're right and we should just pack-"

"Catnip! Madge!" Katniss looks up suddenly and both hope and annoyance flash across her face.

Madge hops up. "Kitten, over here!" She sounds happy to see Hawthorne, despite the fact that this was supposed to be a girls' weekend trip. Of course, he _is_ her boyfriend.

Which would make me happy too. If I _had_ a boyfriend.

I sigh and turn back to the fire. I know I'm not going to hear the end of it when Gale herds us back home like sheep. He'll probably laugh at us and ask what we were thinking-

"What were you thinking? It's freezing rain out here!" Gale kisses Madge soundly and wraps his arms around her.

Just the idea of shared body heat makes me envious. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I make myself a deal: if I make it through the rest of this weekend, I can find a nice, thick, juicy one-night stand when we get back to campus. Frankly, this happy-couple bullshit is just so hard when the only thing I'm riding is the Purple Monster. Or maybe I can just skip the messiness of the DNA cannon and splurge on a new boyfriend named _Hitachi._

She laughs, obviously happy to see him. "We're having a perfectly good girls' trip. What are you doing here?"

"We came to rescue you. Finn and Annie told us where you came to camp. Annie was concerned that the weather had turned."

 _We?_ And that's when I spy Peeta, who has Katniss backed up against the wall of the cave. He's kissing her like he hasn't seen in her forever, when it's only been, like, two days. Even _I'm_ warm at the way he's cupping the back of her head with one hand while the other tangles in the belt loops of her jeans.

I seriously owe myself the Hitachi.

Katniss breaks off the kiss. "We don't need to be rescued. We're fine on our own." She says this as Peeta's licking and nibbling at her neck.

I smile into my knees because this is why I love these women: even though we privately agree that it might be time to turn back, we always stick up for each other. We're united. Even if they each have someone to bone and I don't.

Gale snorts. "Yeah. Sure. At least you made a good call on the cave. Let's start getting stuff together so we can pack it up."

Katniss glares at Gale. "Stop being such a dick, Gale. How many times have I had to save your ass in the woods back home?"

"We can fight about this when we're down the mountain. Alright, Catnip?" How Gale misses her gritted her teeth every time he calls her that stupid nickname, I'll never know.

"I don't think that's going to be an option. The visibility's lousy and the roads are slick. With the temperature dropping, we're looking at good odds that they'll freeze. We should just wait for it to clear." a familiar, if maddeningly logical, voice says from behind me.

 _Of-fucking-course_ they brought him. It's like my own personal hell: being stuck with 2 other happy couples and Brue. In a cave. For the night.

I still haven't forgiven him for scaring the living daylights out of me that night downtown. And I certainly don't examine too closely how I feel about him helping me, like at the beach. Or how it is that I'm hurt whenever I linger on the fact that he hasn't made so much as a single move on me this semester. I know I'm out of practice, but those kisses at the Christmas party were pretty hot. Right? He can't possibly still be under the impression that I have a thing for Finn.

-o—

Peeta's brought along enough baked goods to make us all hibernate and we make tea and cocoa. It's funny how I've never noticed that Peeta doesn't drink cocoa, but he eats sweets. Brue is exactly the opposite: he pulls out beef jerky and chases it with cocoa loaded with mini marshmallows. Katniss makes hot dogs for dinner, and we're all pretty full of junk food as the afternoon turns into evening. I'm still cold and watching the other couples snuggle does nothing to improve my mood or my shivering.

Brue is, of course, impervious to the cold. Bastard.

Gale and Madge feed each other bits of chocolate. I know it's probably time to figure out sleeping arrangements when he swoops in to lick a melted smudge off her lips. Brue must have the same idea because he asks how we all want to settle in for the night.

"Madge and I will take the car. Why don't you guys stay in the cave?" Gale isn't even looking at us. He's just staring at Madge as she licks chocolate off her fingers. It's as if we don't even exist.

I glance at where Everdeen is sitting in Peeta's lap. Although his hands are chastely wrapped around her waist, I can tell by how he is nuzzling her neck that it's going to be about five minutes in a sleeping bag before things get heated in a way I do _not_ want to witness, no matter how hot that beach kiss was. I'm pretty sure I'd rather take my chances with a leaky tent.

"Good idea. Why don't you guys take the car, Peeta and Katniss can have the cave, and Jo and I will crash in my truck." Brue makes it sound like that's the best option. Maybe it is. But I can't help feel like it's splitting the difference between swimming with leeches and being caged in a small space with a tiger. Or freaking evil monkeys. Evil monkeys are the worst.

Brue sees the look on my face and raises an eyebrow, like it's a dare. _A fucking dare?_ _Really?_ Like he hasn't learned that I'll take whatever he dishes out in the year and a half we've known each other. _It's on like Donkey Kong, buddy._ I get to my feet and gather up the things I think I'll need for the night, waiting for Everdeen to protest. She knows how I feel about Brue, especially after everything that's happened.

Her protest doesn't come, though, probably because she's too busy preparing herself to be penetrated by Peeta's Typhoon-class skin-submarine. I mentally stick my tongue out at her. Didn't she once tell me that friendship should come before sex? _Yeah_. That must have been _before_ she was getting laid.

Brue waits patiently for me at the entrance to the cave. I realize I'll have to follow him because I have no idea where his truck is. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod. I'm as ready as I'll ever be to spend an entire night alone in an enclosed space with him. "Sure thing, Cody Simpson."

We make a break for it and are pretty soaked by the time we get to the unlocked silver Escalade. I wait while he folds down the seats so we have a flat area in the back and we pile in, breathless as much from the pelting, icy drops of rain as the run. Our jackets come off and Brue flings them in the front seat like they need to be as far away from us as possible. I figure now is not the time to tell him that the bedding I grabbed is also cold and wet. I'll let him figure that out when he lays down on the damper of the two pillows.

What can I say? I'm generous like that.

"Nice car. New?" I busily arrange pillows and blankets, and take off my sweatshirt. Anything to keep from facing him in the enforced quiet of the SUV.

"No. I borrowed it from my dad. He's out of the country again, so he won't even notice." Brue struggles to get his own sweatshirt over his head and I try not to focus on the strip of skin revealed by his shirt as it rides up. I swallow, hard, and look away, suddenly very warm in the enclosed space. I distract myself by remembering that Brue's dad is some sort of big wig in the music business. It's one of the reasons he wanted to go into it as well. Looking at the pimped out SUV, I can't blame him: it feels bigger than my dorm room last year.

"Ah. Well, um…do you mind if I read for a little bit? I went low-tech and brought a book with me on this trip." I hold up the latest Jack Reacher novel.

Brue frowns as he tries to read the book cover. "Reacher? Please tell me you didn't see the movie."

I'm affronted. "Of course not. Tom Cruise is way too tiny to play a believable Reacher. He's like…gummy bear-sized."

"Gummy bear-sized?" He laughs, teeth flashing in the dim light. I'm always stunned at how he seems like a different person when he laughs. It's disconcerting. I look away before I can do something stupid, like touch him.

"Yeah," I hold my index finger and thumb up to represent a few inches. "Gummy bear-sized."

"Who would you have had play Reacher?" Brue leans back on his elbows. He looks relaxed. And his shirt is still showing a little bit of skin that makes me want to trace it with my teeth. D _on't look, Jo._

"I don't know. Michael Clarke Duncan? The Rock? Hulk Hogan?" I throw out all of the big guys I can think of.

"Aren't two of the three of them dead?" Brue asks. He lazily scratches right above his belly button, which moves his shirt up another inch. _Fucker._ I bet he's doing it on purpose.

When I recover and shake my head, he clarifies. "Michael Clarke Duncan…and Hulk Hogan."

I'm aghast, "Hulk Hogan is _not_ dead. Don't you watch the WWE? What kind of man are you?"

"Uh, no, I don't. We're not all into every bit of pop culture like you are, Jo." He rolls onto his side and pulls off his shoes.

"Why are we even having this conversation then? Who would you pick?" I tap my finger on the floor impatiently. At least his happy trail is decently covered when he turns back to me.

He shrugs. "Geoff Stults?"

"Who?" I don't even know who that is.

"The guy from The Finder. He's big enough. I think he played pro football somewhere." Brue answers thoughtfully.

"Wasn't that a comedy, not a drama? Sure, he's big enough. But it's not just about size, it's about presence," I answer vehemently. Suddenly, we're not talking about a movie or book. I feel my face heat as his eyes lock on mine. The moment spins out, the only sound the heavy drumming of the rain on the roof.

"I've got to pee." I hope he doesn't get the _I-need-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here_ subcontext. I pull my sweatshirt back on and clamber out of the car, running away.

-o-

It's gone from gray to full-dark when I get back to the car and I'm shivering. I slide inside, hoping Brue's asleep or at least forgotten my blush. He doesn't need to know I'm aware of him physically. It's just going to make tonight that much more awkward, especially with his indifference to me that past few months.

He turns and looks me over quietly as I take off my soaked sweatshirt and slide out of my shoes, trying not to get mud everywhere. I ignore the look on his face and lay down facing away from him. I'm a chicken and I hate it, but I just need to get through this night without him knowing that he gets to me.

I can do that, right? One night. I can do anything for one night.

He slides closer to me, spooning me up against his warmth. It feels great, considering how sodden the outer layer of my sweatpants are. "Jo, you're soaked," He says like I'm a five year old.

"It's nothing. I've got another layer on underneath."

I exhale sharply when he puts his arm around my waist and tugs the drawstring. "Then take the top layer off. You'll be much more comfortable."

I grit my teeth because he's right – which I hate - and sit up to slide my sweats off my hips before he can lend a helping hand. It's hard enough admitting that I don't want to lose a layer of protection between our bodies without him freaking helping me take my clothes off. That I cannot handle. I lay back down and he pulls me into him so we're flush, my noise against his chest. It's a position that's new for us and it fills me with all sorts of yearnings that I immediately tamp down. He smells of rain, soap and, faintly, of chlorine. I try to focus on the comfort of that smell.

"'Night, Jo." His breath tickles my ear as his arm tightens possessively around me. I know it's just reflex.

I have to clear my throat so my overwhelming hurt doesn't creep into my voice. "Goodnight, Brue." I lay tense for a long time until his breathing evens out; part of me savors every inch of him against me while another part of me can't wait for morning to come.

-o—

I awaken to the sound of rain on the roof, unsure of where I am or who's holding me. It comes back in pieces: the camping trip; the rain; Brue, Peeta, and Gale; Brue's SUV. It's his hands that are under my shirt against the bare skin of my stomach. I freeze, pulse leaping, at the telltale movement that signals he's dreaming. I send up a silent "thank you" that he's still sleeping, since it will give me time to get my pulse under control. Except it doesn't. As soon as I try to control my breathing, sliding my hands between my skin and his to break contact, his muscles tense in such a way that I know he's awake.

And I realize something else: he's rock hard against me. Rock. Fucking. Hard.

 _Fuck._ I want to hiss at the rush of power that surges through me. Sure, it could be because we're still teenagers, but I don't care. Because Brue Fucking MacLeod wants me: he's not oblivious. This isn't like the last time, when I threw myself at him. No. This is his body giving him away. Finally, a signal from him I can read.

It's about fucking time.

So when he pulls his hand away, I hold onto it as I roll over and slide it up and under my shirt deliberately. My other hand reaches out to stroke the front of his sweatpants. I watch his eyes pop open at the movement, barely his fingers tense against my ribs at the shock of me touching him.

He breaks the quiet. "Jo…are you sure?"

I almost laugh at him. _Duh_. I feel a little better knowing he must be oblivious to how much I want this. It makes us even, somehow. So I lean forward and kiss him, reaching lower to cup him fully. If my lips don't tell him that I want him, I don't think my hand is leaving much to the imagination.

He hisses. I love it.

He rolls me onto my back and slides his fingers up my ribcage. It's my turn to hiss when his fingers stroke my bare breast. "No bra, Jo?" He makes short work of the buttons on my shirt, sliding the edges apart and licking me in tightening circles. I clench involuntarily and roll my hips toward his.

"Your skin is amazing." He breathes it against me, nibbling the underside of my breast. I smile to myself: I had almost forgotten that quiet, intense Brue is a talker during sex. I'm wet just at the thought of the things I might make him say.

His hair tickles a little, so I use that as an excuse to run my fingers through it and down to his t-shirt. I want it off so I can return the favor. His nipples are butterscotch disks, sweet when I lick them to peaks that make him groan even as his hands palm my breasts. I bite him lightly and he hisses again. His hips roll into mine in a way that tells me he likes it and I do it again, just so I can feel his reaction. I'm barely listening when he says in a low voice, "I want you to leave a mark." Who am I to tell him no? I'm more than willing to play possessive tonight. So I push his shirt out of the way, scrape the waistband of his sweats downward, and lick my way to his hipbone. The fleshy part just inside his hip is an easy target and I suck the skin until I know there will be a tiny mark there tomorrow.

"Yes," he moans.

I want to wrap my legs around him, but our pants are in the way. I certainly don't want to stop touching him. I compromise by I stroking him while tugging his pants and underwear down his legs. It's not graceful, but it gets the job done. He has the same idea, but stops when he realizes that I'm not wearing anything under my sweats.

"Commando?" He growls. "Get these off. I need to see you."

The second they're off, he's between my thighs, cupping me with his hand while one talented finger slides inside me. It feels so startlingly good that I arch into him as he sets a slow pace.

"You're so tight. So wet. I remember this from last time. " He licks a nipple, then blows on it. I can't tell what to concentrate on first: his hands or his lips. "I remember you riding me but I never got to see you. I'd like to watch you this time, Jo."

 _Fuck_. I'm pretty sure that he just ratcheted the intensity up a bunch of notches. Especially because he sounds so _polite_ while he's touching me. The combination of naughty and nice has me I trailing my nails up is spine and gripping his shoulders.

"Tell me what you like. Slower?" He slows the movement of his hand so that my hips have no choice but to writhe to create more friction. My breath hitches. "Faster?" The pace changes to tiny, shallow thrusts that tease. "Deeper?" He's cupping me and I'm suddenly fuller. I bend a knee so that he's even closer, driving further into me as I moan. "Ah. I think you like that. Can you come this way?"

I don't think I have to tell him yes. Not when my hips are driving upward to meet every thrust and my knee is bent up to my chest to deepen the angle. He must want something more from me, though, because he moves his hand away.

I mewl and open my eyes to find him smiling a self-deprecating smile.

"Yes, I can come that way," I answer belatedly in a husky voice that doesn't even sound like me. But that's not what he wants.

"Come here?" He lays down and arranges my legs on either side of his shoulders. At this proximity, he's got a clear view of me hovering over him. I thank God that it's dark and that the rain pelting the windows is going to hide whatever we're doing from anyone outside.

"You're beautiful." He looks up at me, eyes holding mine captive as his fingers glide against me. I rise up toward them, bracing myself on the window, lost in how desperate this position makes me feel. How in control. "How do you think it will feel if I lick you instead?"

My head rolls back as he does exactly that: his hands hold my hips toward his mouth while he brings me to the brink of begging as I tremble above him.

He shifts me slightly so he can take a deeper breath. "Do you want my mouth? My fingers? What do you want, Jo?" He strokes a finger inside me, suddenly deep. "Ah, what about both?"

I'm sensitive, but I buck toward him anyway. I want release. I want to fall like the rain against the roof, hard and fast and over and over.

He balances me so I am kneeling directly over him so his hand has room to move. The extra depth and friction and the wetness of his tongue and lips slipping over me have me quivering almost immediately. I think for a split second that I might be too turned on, too sensitive, to come but he twists his wrist and something blossoms inside me quickly. My hand flexes on the cold window as I cry out.

I have to move away from him, too sensitive for even his breath on me. I grab my purse and root around inside it, fingers closing around one of the foil packets I keep next to my tampons in my little _lady's emergency kit_. I know I need an angle that will give time to recover, so I sit astride him facing his feet while I sheathe him in latex, then slide him inside me.

"Jo? What are… Oh. Oh, wow." He props am arm behind his head for a better view. I'm pretty glad he can't see the hunger on my face as I ride him: if I was desperate while he tongued me, the idea of him watching us come together is enough to make me throb. I'm not disappointed when he says, "I can see every bit of us." His hips move experimentally as he tries to go deeper. From this angle, it feels like all sorts of friction and I'm rapidly losing control of the pace. "Are you going to come again? Because I want to watch when you do…"

I shatter before he even finishes his thought. His breath catches at whatever it is he sees and feels. Then his hips crash into mine as he moans his own release.

I collapse until I'm holding onto his feet and idly thinking about how nice they are for guy-feet. I drop a kiss on the top of one, thankful they're not too hairy. I know it's probably time to move when I feel him shrinking and wetness trickling out of me. I can't help but wonder if we've made a wet spot on the floor of his dad's car.

"Come here." He ties off the condom, throwing it in a trash bag on the floor and rolls back to one side. I join him when he pats the space next to him and he kisses me with such intensity I'd swear it was foreplay, not after. I can't help but be tense. I mean, is he going to want to talk about this? We've never really been around each other once we're…done.

He lets out a sigh, pulls the covers over us and drops a kiss on the top of my head before tugging me closer. "Thank you. Now, stop thinking and go back to sleep."

I want to tell him to stop telling me what to do, but my eyelids are heavy. I tell myself it was just the great sex combined with relief from not having to talk about our relationship that has my breath slowing. My last coherent thought is that I fit against him perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story really should be called "The Kindness of Strangers and Friends". Thank you so very much for reading it and staying with me through some of the more serious parts of this story. I know Jo appreciates it, and so do I.
> 
> Glass therapy is real. For those of you who are interested, a Google search of Glass Breaking Therapy will provide some details.
> 
> Jo's gift to Madge is courtesy of Dick-n-Jane dot com. They have an awesome blog where they discuss sex toys as well as experiences.
> 
> Madge's little speech regarding S&M comes largely from research and lurking on the blog of asleepylioness dot tumblr dot com. She and several of her followers have very interesting perspectives on being submissive. I also used Switch by Megan Hart as a reference point.


	36. Fight or Flight

I wake to find myself so close to Brue's back that I'm actually plastered to him with drool. His skin is smooth and tan with a beauty mark I've never noticed between his spine and shoulder blade. My legs are tangled with his. The arm looped under my pillow is asleep but I don't move it because my hand is still buried in the springy curls of his hair. I'm warm. Almost too warm. All around us it smells like skin and latex and sex, with a little bit of mud and wood smoke thrown in for good measure.

I don't want to be anywhere else. Probably for the first time in my one-night stand history, I burrow closer to the guy next to me, tightening the vise grip I have around his hips. I'm content. Replete. I'm sure if I pulled my lips away from nuzzling his skin and looked up, I would see freaking cartoon deer, bunnies, and birds holding flower garlands over the car in a Disney-esque show. It feels so good that I almost want him to wake up. Almost.

In case there's any doubt in your mind, let me explain how odd that is for me. You see, my one-night stand etiquette demands that the walk of shame occurs before the standee awakens. There is no dawdling. No snuggling. No shared looks, no lustful part deux. "Get in, get down, get out" is the motto I live – and love – by.

Like I said, I don't _want_ to leave. But you see, I _have_ to. Because…because…well, I have to pee.

What? It's totally normal! My cervix was used as a tiny trampoline last night. And orgasms use muscles, ladies. Muscles that, although taut and supple, are also tired from the workout. So even though my pelvic floor is happier than the light-up dance floor in _Saturday Night Fever_ , it would be even more so if I would just take care of this little detail.

Which means no more snuggles. Dammit.

So I reluctantly pull away from him and slide my arm out from underneath the pillow to root around for my clothes. I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to reach my shoes on the center console without climbing over him when he rolls over and stretches. I can't look away. It should be illegal for anyone to be that gorgeous and sinewy when they're also half asleep.

"Morning," he mumbles behind a hand as he yawns.

I don't answer because I'm distracted by his abs. And by distracted, I mean that I want to sink my teeth into them and then thrash around like a dog who's just found a drug lord sitting on a giant, secret stash. If not for the urgent reminder from my bladder, I might even give in to the impulse instead of finding my shoes.

He watches me silently, one arm looped behind his head as I tug them on and tie them. It reminds me of his eyes on me last night and I gulp quietly. Because it's light out now. Brue's awake. And his eyes reflect hurt and maybe…is that acceptance? Like he knows I'm going to bail. Anticipates it, even.

Well, fuck being predictable. He's not going to tell me what to do.

I blurt awkwardly, "I'm not running away. I just… I have to pee."

My answer is the arch of one eyebrow. At my small nod, he sits up and grabs his t-shirt. "Let me come with you."

"You don't have—"

He stops me with a hand. "Jo, I know I don't have to come with you. But I don't know where the bathrooms are, otherwise."

"Oh." I smile at him like an idiot before remembering to grab my toothbrush and toothpaste.

We hike in silence through the gunmetal gray of the predawn. Even though it's not raining now, I'm not convinced that it won't be in a few hours. And, since I'm chilly and shivering under my still-damp clothes, I pick up the pace. The further we get from base camp, the more I feel his eyes on me, especially when we pass a row of latrines.

I answer his unspoken question, "We're heading for a _real_ bathroom." I leave out the fact that I need some extra time to think about what happened last night, hence our trek through the forest.

We're both winded when we reach the little building that houses actual running water, showers, and – cue angels singing – flush toilets. We split up. I do my thing, and it doesn't shock me in the least when I get back out front and he's already waiting for me. It must be fucking great to be a guy and just whip it out wherever you are without having to divest yourself of practically all of your clothes.

Brue points at my toothpaste and toothbrush. "Can I borrow that?"

I hand over the travel tube and clasp my toothbrush to my chest protectively. "Sharing toothbrushes is disgusting." At his cocked eyebrow, I reiterate, "Do you know what sort of germs get transferred that way?"

I shudder as he shrugs likes it's no big deal and walks back to a sink. I pace, continuing the rant, "No, seriously. You thought I would just hand it over? I'd have to _throw it out_ after that. I don't even know where your mouth has been!"

I must be too lost in my tirade to notice that he's come back and is standing in front of me, holding the tube out. I reach for it, but Brue must have other ideas: he tugs me toward him and slides a hand into my hair before he kisses me silent. Kisses me breathless. He tastes like mint and faintly of the wood smoke that's in the air. Like mud and rain and dirt and salty skin. All thoughts of germs and one-night-stand anxiety flee as I fist my hands in his shirt and lean in further. I want more. How is it that it's only been a few hours and I've already forgotten how good a kisser Brue is?

I'm not the first to pull back.

When he does, it's just far enough to nuzzle the spot just under my jaw. "Good morning," he murmurs against my skin. I swear my pelvic floor does a little dance – despite the slight soreness from riding reverse cowgirl last night – when his voice drops into that gravelly, Brue _sex-talk_ voice and he says, "And you know exactly where my mouth has been."

My heart clenches and I'm practically panting by the time he nibbles on my ear. Sure, some of it is the way he's running his lips lightly along the column of my throat. But I'm also afraid Brue may be trying to make the best of a bad situation: this is not the way one-night stands end. Actually, this is the exact opposite of how Brue has acted every other time we've been together. And for him to go from barely speaking to me this semester to Sir Handsy McGropesalot has my head reeling and my bullshit detector chirping.

So I say the first thing that comes to mind: "I'm hungry."

He flashes me an impish grin. "I've got just the thing, then. Follow me."

When we get back to the Escalade, Brue immediately roots around for something in the center console. He emerges triumphant with his prize and holds out a yellow slice of heaven.

"Where did you get this, again?" I take the slice of Peeta's glazed lemon loaf he offers. One whiff of the moist, tart goodness has my mouth watering so much that I don't even care that it's going to clash with my toothpaste.

"I took it out of Peeta's bag of baked goods when we first got here."

"Now why would you do that?" I laugh. I have to stop myself from shoving the whole slice in my mouth at once. Instead, I break it into eight pieces and slowly chew each one, saving the glazed ones for last. I can't help but lick my lips at the goodness that can only come from pure sugar. When I look up, Brue is watching. "What?"

He shakes his head. "You're just…different than I thought you'd be."

I stop for a second mid-bite because that may not be a compliment. "Different how?"

He stops and stares out the window, which gives me the chance to snag the half-piece of lemon loaf dangling from his fingers. His voice is different – empty – when he says, "Well, for one, you're still here. Usually you disappear after we…"

"Have sex?" I answer helpfully, when he can't seem to describe what it is we do. "And I do not _disappear._ You're the one who ignored me after the Christmas party for practically this whole semester."

"I didn't ignore you. I was giving you time to think."

"It's the same thing, Brue. You barely speak to me. And last night, well, it was amazing. It's always amazing with you." His eyes darken at the compliment, even as his cheeks flush. I have to keep myself on track, that's how adorable his blush is. "You don't have to pretend you're interested in me just because we're good together in the sack. That kiss this morning was totally not necessary. We should just accept that we have chemistry and move on."

He stares at me incredulously for a second before he rubs his eyes. "Let me get this straight: you think that I'm not into you, romantically, but that we keep getting together. And every time we do, when we don't talk for a while after, that's because of me?"

I nod, so glad we're on the same page. "Pretty much. And I think you feel bad because I keep throwing myself at you, so you're trying to toss me a bone – so to speak – but you don't need to. I heard what you said at Christmas loud and clear."

He shakes his head like he can't even believe what he's hearing. "Jo, exactly what did you hear me say?"

I look down at the crumbs on my lap and try to separate what I think he said from the nightmares. I don't look up, not even when I have to clear my throat from the lump that's suddenly stuck there. Is he really going to make me say this? "You said that I was too hard, too difficult, for anyone to love."

"No." The harsh, grating sound of his voice makes me look up. "That's not what I said at all. I said that you make it difficult to love you."

I can't stop the pain from showing on my face or in my voice. "It's the same thing." I recoil from his hand when he reaches out to cup my face. "I don't need your pity."

His hand drops away, but that doesn't stop him from leaning toward me until our faces are mere inches apart. "For a smart girl, you are amazingly dense, you know that? Granted, my verbiage sucked. But I was telling you that I love you. And this whole semester, when you made all sorts of excuses not to see me, I assumed that you didn't want to hear it." He studies my eyes which are wide with surprise and doubt.

I can't have heard him, right. So I sit, taut, and wait for the punchline.

"I love you, Jo." He looks away with his own set of doubts. "I know you don't feel the same way-"

"Don't tell me what I feel." My voice is sharp, even to my own ears. I don't know what I'm saying, though. Because that would obviously mean that I feel something for him. Do I? I can't face that possibility. Not yet.

He cocks an eyebrow and waits patiently. When I don't say anything else, he looks from my eyes to my lips. "I'm going to kiss you now. Is that okay?"

I nod – a tiny jerk of my head. My head feels like it's packed with cotton, or like I'm about to pass out. Everything is hazy. I expect his lips to snap things back into focus but that doesn't happen. If anything, the soft touch of his lips as they just graze mine makes it worse because he won't deepen the kiss. It's maddening, this slow, gentle brush. Like I'm precious and might shatter. Like this is the most romantic moment in the world.

I can't stop the bubble of laughter from bursting out and vibrating against both our lips. I pull away in time to see him frown.

"What's so funny?"

I hold my sides as the giggles overtake me. Because…really? Me? Romance? Come on. I'm more likely to be bitten by a vampire than share a romantic sunrise with Brue MacLeod. This whole thing has to be a set up. I try to catch my breath. "Just…you…you were like one second away from having a John Legend moment."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "That's a great song. And laughing's not very nice."

I wipe my eyes. "Yeah, well I'm not very nice. You should know that by now."

He nods, obviously agreeing with my self-assessment. "I don't need nice. But I do need to know if you're turning me down."

 _Holy fuck_. _He's actually serious._ And he obviously expects an answer.

What do I want? Well, I suck at relationships. But I am so tired of being alone and facing my nightmares by myself. On the other hand, Brue is putting himself out there as my playmate of the month on a more permanent basic _._ I don't know if there's a woman alive who would say no to that. And I'm certainly not strong enough to be the first.

I swallow hard and shake my head once.

He instantly grins and pulls me toward him. When we're as close as we can get without me being on his lap, he starts to hum _All of Me_ loudly and off key. I know he's playing with me, so I smirk, then shut him up by grabbing a fistful of his shirt and leaning in for a hard, deep kiss.

Later, we drive down the mountain with the girls in one car, the guys in another. Of course, the girls share details: Katniss and Peeta evidently have a thing for outdoor sex, especially if involves caves, while Madge and Gale thoroughly enjoyed playing carjacking Stockholm syndrome. When it comes time for me to share, I act cagey for a while. The girls, however, waste no time wearing me down. I end up spilling all about Brue's amazing oral abilities, as well as returning the favor this morning. Madge immediately launches into a play by play of Gale's talents. Even Katniss joins in, haltingly explaining that Peeta can not only go at it for an hour at a time, but that last time she ended up so exhausted that she missed her first-period class the next day.

I leave out the fact that Brue said those three little words, no matter how much we're sharing. Because, frankly, I still can't think about them without feeling a panic attack coming on. I don't even feel guilty about leaving it out. I mean, Katniss never talks about her feelings for Peeta. And I'm not sure what Madge feels for Gale beyond an intense protective streak. I feel worse about stealing Peeta's lemon loaf than I do about keeping this tidbit from the girls who are my closest friends.

-o-

Once we return to school and settle into our normal routine, the only person that I share the new development with is Dr. A. He seems pleased that I've taken a chance on a more permanent sort of relationship instead of using Brue for only his cock. We spend a lot of time analyzing how I feel. What I'm learning. He finds it especially interesting that the nightmares all but stop, especially when Brue and I spend the night together.

And I don't mean when we get down and dirty and loose: we don't have sex at all after we get back to L.A. Well, unless you count that one time in the library, where I decided it would be a good idea to let his fingers skim my card catalog. Or that night when I pulled him into the stairs that lead to Bovard's bell tower and showed him how much I love the way he looks in his jeans. It's disconcerting that we're not actually getting in any horizontal aerobics, though, because I know exactly how talented he is with those hips. But I discover something else: a good night's sleep, wrapped around him, is _better_ than sex.

And if you tell anyone that, I'll fucking kill you.

The last thing I need is for him to find out that cuddling next to him while he's asleep is right up there with Christmas morning and the Easter Bunny and anything baked by Peeta.

It helps that Brue hasn't whipped out those three little heart-attack-inspiring words again. In fact, he's pretty laid back. I mean, not quite as laid back as Peeta, who pretty much is just happy that the sun rises and sets with Katniss on the planet each day, but close. We're not really into PDAs. We don't avoid it, specifically, but we don't go out of our way to be all touchy or feely. Which is good, because I would have to punch him. You think I'm going to let him get handsy and then not follow through? Nope. I'm all about truth in advertising when it comes to the D. And he has such a nice D.

I'm sitting on the bleachers of the swim stadium watching Brue slice through the water like it's nothing. I may not be much of a swimmer, but there's something about the way he moves – his power and authority in the water – that has me racking my brain for ways I can get him to slip me his William Wallace. I've just about decided that I think it's about time for some cock karaoke that will hopefully remind him that I'm more than just a body pillow when I hear someone calling my name.

"Lass! Johanna!"

I'd recognize that brogue anywhere. My libido makes the fastest retreat in history as I stand up to give Angus a hug. He slides a look between me and the pool with a wily gleam in his eye. "Enjoying the scenery, are ye?"

"I was in the neighborhood." I play it cool because I have no idea if Brue has said a single word about us to his grandpa. "How've you been, Angus?"

"I'm well. Can't complain. What about ye? Gearing up for finals and ready to go home for the summer?"

That shouldn't be a hard question, right? It is, though. I haven't really discussed what's in my head with anyone but Dr. Aurelius. I take a deep breath, rest my eyes on Brue carving his way through the lane, and say slowly, "I'm thinking of staying in L.A for the summer. Maybe get an internship and crash at Finn and Annie's." I'm pretty sure Annie would love the company, especially on those lonely nights when Finn is gone doing God-knows-what. And an internship makes good career sense.

"Ah. Career-minded and dedicated." Angus pats my knee before asking, "What does your family think?"

I don't answer.

"Ye haven't told them?" He's surprised.

I shake my head. My mom and dad aren't exactly thrilled with my recent life choices. I'm pretty sure that they'll make the immediate leap that I'm staying because of a guy. And that's why I've taken the time to talk this through with the good Doctor: I'm not sure that it's not because of Brue. "I haven't told anyone. Do you think it's a good idea?"

His shrewd eyes meet mine. "Well, that would depend on yer reasons."

I answer quickly, ticking them off one at a time on my fingers, "Next year I'll be a junior. I think it would be great to get some work exposure and begin building a resume. I have to do something to differentiate myself, right? The job market's pretty fierce from what I hear and read." He nods, which makes me feel better. "Annie can use the help, too."

He waits for me to add more. When I don't, he prods for the cons. "What about your brothers? They only grow up once."

 _Direct hit._ I'd never admit it to anyone – except maybe Gale and Katniss – but I miss the boys. Angus is right that they are growing up, and I haven't seen them in what seems like forever. When Dr. Aurelius and I had talked it through, I had shared that I was pretty sure they've hit the yucky adolescent stage where they hate everyone, though, including their big sister. Which means that they want me around as much as my parents do. I can do more for myself here in L.A. than there, watching them mope, beat each other up, and play Playstation.

I shrug. "They don't really need me. They're all pretty independent now."

Angus frowns at me. I can tell he wants to say something else, but he must see the stubborn clench of my jaw and decides to drop it. It's quiet for a minute as we both watch the pool. "Seems like ye have it all figured out." He claps his large hands together. "Since ye might be in L.A. after school's over, let me formally invite ye to the Highland Games."

"The what?"

"The Highland Games. Elizabeth and I sponsor a Scottish festival to kick off the summer." At my look of utter horror, Angus laughs. "Ah, lass. It's fun! There's dancing, food, a bar, and all sorts of Scottish mayhem. I'll let my grandson give ye all the details."

I shudder a little because all I can picture is a haggis-eating contest. I'm about to tell him "thanks, but no thanks" when I get distracted by Brue hoisting himself out of the pool. My mouth goes dry as water sluices down his body, catching the light like dewdrops on the chest hair that's grown back. He smiles brightly when he spies me and Angus.

Angus doesn't miss a second of my perusal. Or my reaction. "Ye know, lass, all the men who compete wear kilts at the Games. Even him."

_Fuck me._

"Can I bring my friends?" I don't even realize I've asked the question before Angus is laughing heartily and thumping me on the back.

"Of course, lass! The more the merrier." He leans in closer to me, eyes twinkling. "Have ye figured out yer intentions towards my grandson yet?"

I don't answer because I'm pretty sure I feel something more intense than wanting to ride Brue's Cooter Scooter off into the sunset. And I'm doubly sure that I don't want to share that fact with his grandfather.

-o—

Brue talks us all into heading to Angus's Highland Games. It's not much of a hard sell, considering that finals are over and we're all just packing up our stuff to head to our summer destinations. It's pretty obvious that he had the girls over a barrel with the statement, "All the men wear kilts." Frankly, I'm not sure what convinced the guys: they have plenty of beer at the frat, so it's not his offer of free, all-you-can-drink wristbands. Maybe it's just the lure of something different? Whatever it is, we make arrangements to meet the guys and Finn and Annie at Highland Park.

I'm impressed from the minute we get there: Brue's pre-arranged for valet parking, which drops us right at the edge of what can only be described as a full-on fairgrounds: we're greeted by the ubiquitous bagpipers; there's a food area, complete with beer tent; and I spy at least two stages for entertainment. There are even bleachers set up for various events. And everywhere there are kilts. I mean, _everywhere._ It's barely nine in the morning, and there must be a hundred men in plaids roaming the fields and lined up at the Registration booth. I'm not even sure what they're registering for, but I send a silent prayer of thanks skyward for whomever is making them line up in what can only be described as a kilt buffet.

"Well, will you look at that?" Madge says. "There's something you don't see every day. Suddenly, I get the Catholic school girl fantasy. Don't you?"

Katniss and I nod. There's nothing else to say, except that I'm glad we all wore sundresses instead of dressing down for today's festivities. These men deserve respect for having the nerve to show their colors. As it were.

"Oh my God. Is that…?"

I follow Katniss's line of sight. _Oh my God_ is right. Because there, standing in the queue waiting to register, are the guys.

You'd think I'd be used to seeing Brue in various states of undress, right? But there's something about him in Highland attire that gets my heart to galloping. Gale doesn't look too bad, either. His height and dark looks complement the red-based tartan and black t-shirt that he's wearing. If you put him in a formal jacket, I'm betting he could grace the cover of a romance novel without a problem.

But that's not what has Katniss looking like she might faint. No. She's staring at Peeta like she just caught sight of his caber under the red, green, and blue tartan he's sporting. Or maybe it's the way his white tee hugs his pecs, or how his hair has grown back enough to flop over his forehead. Whatever it is, I bet Katniss pulls him into a cave before the day is through so she can get his dirk wet.

Get it?

I swagger over to the boys, almost snickering at how uncomfortable Peeta looks. But then Katniss walks up to him and gives him a huge hug and, by the time his arm settles around her shoulders, he looks happier and more like the Peeta I know. Plus, they match: Katniss is wearing a white gauze peasant dress that she had mentioned was a birthday gift from her mom and Hazelle. Pressed up against Peeta's side, its embroidered red and white flowers make them look like two peas in a pod; a matched set.

"Looking good, you guys." Gale throws me a dirty look, even though I mean it sincerely. Sure, Gale's surly and broods most of the time. But the same thing didn't stop me from appreciating Gerard Butler in _300,_ did it?

Madge, much to the dismay of some of the men around us, gives Gale a kiss that should mess up her lip gloss but doesn't. "What's the line for?"

"Registration for the competitive events." Peeta notices my raised eyebrow and passes me a brochure while he explains, "Brue talked us into competing in a couple of them, which is why we're all wearing these get-ups. He swore they were required. I've got wrestling-"

Gale interrupts, "We're trying to convince Peeta to do the caber toss, too. I mean, if I'm going to do the hammer throw, he should try something equally tough."

I check out the brochure for descriptions of the events. Wrestling's pretty self-explanatory, but the marketing photo looks pretty gritty: two men with intense expressions look like they're trying to do some serious damage as one flings the other to the ground. I think back to that day when Peeta and I whaled on each other; obviously Gale thinks wrestling's a whole lot easier than it actually is. I feel like I have to warn Peeta, so I say, "There's no pads here, Brainless."

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Duh. You think my brothers and I had pads when we wrestled in the backyard at home?"

"But you weren't wearing a skirt in your backyard, were you?"

He laughs. "No. But I brought some compression shorts for underneath so I don't flash the world."

I hadn't wondered if any of the competitors would go authentic under their kilts. But now that Peeta's mentioned it, I am absolutely, without a doubt, watching that competition. Because, you know. Friends should be there for each other.

"What's a caber toss?" Katniss flips through the brochure, then stares at a picture that I'm pretty sure she thinks is fake. Because it's a guy holding a telephone pole.

"It's when a guy grabs a twenty foot tapered log and throws it end over end," Gale says matter-of-factly.

Katniss glares at him. "That's insane. Why would you be trying to get Peeta to do that?"

I butt in, even though it means siding with Gale, "Because, according to you, he's pretty used to handling a big piece of wood. And it's not crazy: if he can lift it, the forward motion as he runs and pivots should do the rest."

Gale laughs. "Jo, are you going to whip out physics equations again?"

"Why would I do that when you're too dumb to understand them?" I ask sweetly.

"Children, it's too early to bicker," Madge chastises. "What about girl events? Do we just get to sit in the stands and look pretty?"

Gale leans over and cuddles her. "If there was a trophy for that, you'd win."

_Gag._

She must not be buying it, though, because she smacks him on the chest. "I'm serious. What are we supposed to do while you're off getting hammered?"

"Did someone say something about getting hammered?" Brue walks up holding plaid wristbands. Yeah, plaid. "Because I've got free, all-you-can-eat and drink for everyone!"

"You'll be losing money on Jo, that's for sure," Gale scoffs. He's not even phased when I stick my tongue out at him or when Madge smacks him lightly on the arm.

I don't know what possesses me to do what I do next: maybe it's the smirk Gale's wearing; or Katniss cuddling next to Peeta; or maybe it's Brue standing there in a kilt with a killer smile to go along with it. I grab his shirt and tug him toward me, rising on tiptoes to plant my lips on his. It's a possessive kiss. One I don't mind deepening at all. And when he allows it, handing the wristbands to Gale and stepping toward me, I revel in his strong, lean body pressed up against mine. I think I hear a few hoots from guys in line, but I ignore them.

He pulls away slightly. "What's that for?"

I shrug one shoulder. "I guess it's for luck in the games today."

"Well, in that case…" He leans in again, this time dipping me in the process so I have no choice but to cling to his shoulders. I have a split second to wonder how he's doing that wearing a sporran and to register the hooting, hollering, and wolf-whistling as his lips brush mine. And why wouldn't I want to play to the crowd? I trail a hand into his curls and deepen the kiss until I swear we're both trembling.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he whispers as we break apart.

I smooth my beige and green halter sundress with shaky, damp palms, but I meet the dare in his eyes with my own. "Who says I can't finish it?"

Madge drags us back to the group conversation as she jokes with Gale, "Kitten, bugs will fly into your mouth if you don't shut it." She turns her attention to a disheveled and pink-cheeked Brue. "So, Brue, what sort of events are there for girls?"

Before we know it, we're all registered. I decide to do the battle axe throw – how hard can it be? Katniss signs up for the archery showcase, and the boys have their respective events logged. One of the white-haired old ladies explains that we can return to the tent and add on events at any time. We're all joking about why anyone would want to inflict that sort of punishment on themselves when I think I recognize a blonde as she walks by. And she's with another face I recognize.

"Isn't that douche-boy? The one Madge keeps going up against at the frat?"

Peeta answers me with one word. It's the guy's name, but he practically spats it. "Cato."

"Yeah. The one who tried to score with Sparkles or Sprinkles or Spangly-Top Girl, right? And isn't he with Clarissa? Either he's moving up or she's slumming it these days."

"Who's Clarissa?" Katniss asks.

"She's my ex." Brue states it matter-of-factly, like he's reciting what he had for breakfast instead of talking about a girl who could be on _America's Next Top Model_.

Madge assesses the gorgeous blonde, who's wearing a kilt so small that I pray she's not authentically Scottish underneath. Like, get this: her handbag is larger than her skirt. And I'm not even kidding. I shoot a glance at Brue, who shrugs, unaffected by every inch of the waxed and tanned glory on display less than one hundred feet away. That makes me feel a little better, until I notice that she and her creepy-though-hot boyfriend are eyeing our little group. Clarissa's eyes narrow in an unbecoming way as she stares me down. So, I do the ladylike thing and give her a one-fingered salute of my own.

Classy, I know.

Cato has to pull her away, which I think is mighty nice of him. Until he turns back, looks right at Madge and mouths, "We'll see you on the field."

Uh Oh. That sounds like a challenge. And judging from the way Madge frowns in concentration, she's picking up the gauntlet.

-o—

As we get ready to move to the caber toss area, we meet up with Finn and Annie. There is much hugging and appreciation of Finn's own Highland attire, when Annie says, "You guys go on ahead. Sam and I are going to head to the restroom. We'll meet up with you by the caber toss." She lovingly kisses the top of Sam's head, covered in an adorable plaid hat that matches the kilt Finn's sporting.

Gale takes that as his cue. "You ready to throw some lumber around?"

"Caber toss? We're really going to try this?" Peeta heaves a sigh.

I put my arm around him. "Nah, Brainless. _You're_ really going to try this."

Madge and Gale head to the hammer toss, while the rest of us make our way to the caber toss arena. Even I'm intimidated when we get our first caber sighting. I've handled a lot of wood in my time, but let me tell you, seventeen to twenty feet of wet wood is more than I ever want to wrap my fists around. Katniss swallows hard and keeps eyeing Peeta, presumably in case he wants to back out. All he does, though, is brush the sweat out of his eyes as he watches the first few competitors.

He, Finn, and I head down the bleachers at the same time: Peeta to head to the competitors' tent with Finn standing in as his coach, and me to go see if I can find Annie. She's been gone awhile and I'm more worried than I let on whenever she's out of sight. She may be on meds, but…still.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Annie's coming out the bathroom looking paler than usual, shoving something in her diaper bag as she walks.

For a second she doesn't recognize me. But then she snaps out of it and gives me a tight smile. "I'm fine." Her eyes slide past me, though.

I'm not buying it for a second. "Annie-"

Her eyes go wide at the same time there's a collective gasp from the bleachers behind me. I whip around to see that I've missed Peeta's first caber attempt. Something's gone wrong – horribly wrong. Katniss rushes down the bleachers like there's a bunch of angry hornets on her tail, and Annie and I trot to the field. Finn's hovering over Peeta, who's lying flat on his back.

"Peeta? Peeta?" Katniss has this weird sound to her voice, like she's one step from a panic attack. Which is not good, since Annie looks like she's beaten her to it and is rocking back and forth.

"God, Finn, get off him. He's not fucking _dying_." I push Finn from where it looks like he's about to do mouth to mouth. To Peeta, I say, "Peeta, come on. Open your eyes." Brue rushes over and sprinkles some water on him, which I think helps. Peeta's blond lashes flutter.

"Careful. That thing's heavy," Peeta rasps.

Finn breathes a sigh of relief. Katniss launches herself at him for a chest-crushing hug. Finally, I pull Katniss away from her assault while Brue offers Peeta a hand up. There are deafening cheers when Peeta hoists himself to his feet and he waves to the crowd with a wry smile at being knocked on his ass.

I can't help but say what we're all thinking, "Why don't you sit this one out, Killer."

Brue backs me up with a nod, "Man, there's no shame if you duck out."

Peeta shakes us off with an impatient wave. To the crowd, he actually gestures to his ear as he grabs Katniss around the waist and gives her a satisfyingly loud kiss. Then he limps back to the referees as if he can't hear the cacophony of yelling directed his way as the crowd goes nuts.

Damn, that Peeta sure has showmanship down.

All of us head to the sidelines where we stand with bated breath. Because, really, this is either going to be glorious, or Peeta's gonna end up killing himself out there.

Peeta has an intense look of sweaty concentration on his face as he hugs the pole. And that's not a euphemism. A hush falls over the crowd as we wait for his next move. It's supposed to be a quick hoist of the wood so that he can slip his interleaved hands underneath it, then a run forward and an upward motion to add height and torque.

Supposed to.

"Come on, Peet," I mumble through clenched teeth. "You can do this."

And he does: it's almost like slo-mo as every muscle in his back and shoulders tense for a second, then gracefully lift and release with perfect balance. I glance at Katniss for a split-second as he lets seventeen feet of stiff rod fly end over end because, frankly, I'm surprised her panties haven't combusted. From the whistles and shouts of the crowd, hers wouldn't be the only ones, either. Katniss, however, has other ideas: she's already bolting out to reach him as soon as he throws a sweaty fist in the air to celebrate a successful throw.

Now, the poor guy has just hoisted the mother of all hard-ons on a bum leg. Do you think that stops him from lifting her with one arm so that she's wrapped around him? Nope. And the crowd freaking loses it as he moves the hand he's holding in the air to caress her jaw and give her a lingering kiss. Like she's his muse who can take away all pain.

Would someone give those two a reality TV show already? I'd watch it.

I realize as we're all congratulating Peeta that I'm late for my battle axe throw, so I high-tail it over to a different grassy area. I'm presented with a wooden-handled axe. It's not huge – maybe two feet in length or less, and not nearly as heavy as the one I wielded at Haymitch's last summer- but the wood handle makes it difficult to get used to in terms of weight distribution. I grasp it authoritatively and swing it a couple of times to loosen my shoulders. I'm almost convinced I can do this when they escort me to the line for my practice throw. I'm twelve feet from the target.

There's no fucking way I can do this.

"Just relax and breathe," Madge says from next to me.

I had no idea she came to watch. I'm glad for the support, but I raise an eyebrow to let her know that I think she's seriously out of her mind.

She says matter-of-factly, "How different can it be than bashing glass? Focus on the target. The other girls are throwing over their heads, so try that. At bare minimum, it's got to be great for your triceps."

I take my first throw. It's not hard enough, so the head of the axe bounces right off the wooden target. I curse under my breath, because I know it's got to "stick" to count. Already, I can feel weird twitching in the muscles of my arms and sweat gathering between my shoulder blades. I try concentrating. I try _not_ concentrating. I try thinking of Cato standing in front of the target.

Nothing works.

When it's my turn to throw for real, I stand behind Clarissa – freaking _Clarissa_ – and watch her hurl at the targets without a single hair out of place. As a matter fact, her blonde, flowing locks look more luminescent than they ever have. As do her lips, which shine like the sun on Pacific at high noon.

Gloss. That's it. That's what I'm calling her from now on.

Of course, Gloss's throws are perfect. Well, they're perfect compared to mine, which are all over the place. My first one doesn't find purchase. The second doesn't even hit the target. By the third, I can hear her snickering from the sidelines, along with her sidekick Cato. The anger coursing through me must give me extra Spidey-Strength or focus on something, because the third throw sticks. It even hits one of the target lines, so I get points.

I could care less about the points. All I want is to get out of here and contemplate my lack of skills over an ice cold beer.

"Nice throw," Cato calls after me from where he and Gloss sit smug and perfect.

Madge puts her hand on my arm as if to hold me back from decking him. She doesn't have to, though, because even I know that he's not worth it. Besides, I've always been told "you break it, you buy it." And, judging by the company he's keeping, he's out of my price range.

"I'm starving," I announce loudly.

-o—

We find Katniss and Annie sitting at an outside table feeding Sam. They tell us that the guys went inside to grab beers.

"How'd the competition go?" Katniss asks.

I sigh, not even wanting to _think_ about my disastrous showing. "I was a mess."

Madge defends me, "She wasn't that bad. She got one to stick, so she even scored points."

I snort. Because it's not like this is Chuck E. Cheese and I get tickets to redeem later just for hitting the target once. "Seriously, I was awful. And to make matters worse, Clarissa and Cato were there. Fuck, I hate them. I wish I could have aimed my axe at her face." Annie looks up from Sam's messy face in alarm, so I reassure her, "It's just a figure of speech."

She doesn't look convinced.

It's quiet for a few minutes as we all just relax in the L.A. sun. Annie's the one who breaks the silence. "Guys? Um…if something happens to me, you'd help Finn with Sam, right? And tell Sam about me – who I was?"

Katniss's eyes go wide. Even Madge seems taken totally aback. Me? I'm already hopped up on Clarissa hatred and axe-throwing adrenaline. I don't like for one little bit that Annie just referred to herself in the past tense. "What the fuck would happen to you? You're fine." To Madge's dirty look, I reiterate, " _She's fine."_

Annie is quiet for a moment as she nuzzles the baby's head. "I'm not fine. And I need to be honest about the fact that I don't know when I will be."

"The medication is working-"

"For now. But I have no idea how long I'll need it. And let's be honest, I'm still not the same as I was…before."

I've got to give her credit for honesty. "True, but Sam's worth it. And you'll be back to yourself in no time."

She shakes her head sadly and it scares the hell out of me. "I don't think I will. You see, my mom never got past it. She's been in…care…since I was little."

_What?_

How Madge maintains a level head, I have no idea. "You never mentioned that to us before. But you're not your mother, Annie." She reaches over and squeezes her hand. "You're strong and you can get through this."

Annie looks down at their joined hands for a second. Her eyes are full of tears when she looks up. "I don't think I can. There's Sam, and the new stuff going on with Finn, and school…it's all too much even with the medication."

Katniss frowns. "Take one thing at a time. Focus on the stuff you can control."

"And fuck Finn!" A few tables glance over, so I lower my voice. "He's being an idiot, and you deserve better. And don't you dare give me that bullshit again about how you owe him because he's been so _patient_. We're not here for him, Annie. We're here for you."

Annie's not just crying now, she's trembling. Katniss takes one look at her and scoops Sam into her arms, mumbling something about taking him somewhere fun while we talk. I'm pretty sure that's Katniss running away, but I can't fault her timing.

Madge's voice is gentle when she asks, "Annie, did something new happen?"

Annie's trembling turns to rocking. I know we don't have much time before it's a full blown panic attack, so I rack my brain for a way to get to the bottom of this. "You came out of the ladies room earlier and looked upset. Did something happen there?"

It's hard to tell if Annie's nodding or just shaking that badly. Whichever it is, she reaches into her diaper bag and pulls out a magazine. It flops naturally open to a certain page, like it's been bookmarked.

It's Finn. He's offering a sugar cube.

To Katniss.

The headline screams, "See Something Sweet? Better Grab It!"

 _Fuck me._ Whoever took the photo got those of us in the background in a washed out sort of way. We all look encouraging. Smug. Like we think it's the most adorable thing in the world for Finn to be flirting in such an obvious way while he's so scantily clothed that I'm pretty sure they had to Photoshop out his one-eyed sea monster. And Katniss? She looks angry, which makes sense. But she also look hot. Like, "Keep-your-doors-locked-ladies-I-am-on-the-prowl" hot.

"Annie, you know Katniss would never-" Madge says, like Captain Obvious.

Annie's crying harder. At least she nods, though, so I know she really does get it. "That's not th-the point." She sniffles.

Ok. Now I'm totally lost. Isn't the point that her husband isn't cheating on her? Because what else could have her so upset? I give Madge a lost look and a shrug because I'm just not following.

"Annie-"

Annie cuts Madge off with a wave of her hand. "Every magazine could have something like this. I'm so scared that I'll see it and that it will be _real_ next time _._ I'm so afraid of it that I feel like I'm disappearing. How can I compete with that? I thought I loved him, but he's really hurting me. I don't know how much more I can take. I don't want to end up like my mom, afraid of everything, in and out of hospitals because she can't cope. There's always going to be someone. Some _picture_ in the _paper_. Some _headline._ "

"And some cunt telling you about it? Was it Clarissa?" I take a chance that Annie didn't buy the magazine herself. If I have to lay money somewhere, it's on a certain blonde who makes my blood boil with the way she watches my boyfriend like all she wants to do is get her French manicured talons into him. Well, I'll tell you what – if Annie confirms that it was that glossy bitch, it's going to take more than her axe-throwing skills to save her today.

Annie's eyes widen and she actually stops crying at my use of the four-letter "c" word. She nods jerkily.

"I am going to fucking kill her."

"Stop." Madge puts a hand on my arm. "Just…stop. Let's try to deal with one thing at a time, alright?" She turns back to Annie and her voice gentles. "Annie, we know this isn't easy. Finn's…job… puts him in the spotlight in a difficult way. But you can get through this. We'll help you. And Finn will help you."

I snort. Yeah, I love Finn, but there is no way he's up for this. "I'm sorry… did you just say that Finn is going to help her? Because he wasn't the one who got her medication. And he's the one acting weird and staying out all hours of the night and day. Annie, if you want to leave his ass to save yourself, I'd support it."

Madge gapes at me. When her jaw snaps shut with a clicking noise, I can hear her teeth grind from across the table. "Johanna, you are not helping."

"I'm not? Because I thought the point is for Annie to get healthy. I'm here to tell you, Annie, that I love Finn. And he was my friend first. But you… _you're_ more important than he is in this scenario. And if you need to protect yourself or make it easier or whatever, you do that. Because your life is worth more than feeling horrible all the time. Isn't it?" I look pointedly at Madge. "A good friend told me once that I deserve high-end cock. Don't you?"

Annie blinks at me, her green eyes confused. "Are you telling me to find someone new?"

"No. Well, unless you count Sam." I lean in so I'm really close to her. "You once told me you felt like you were drowning. You're still the strongest swimmer I know. So, swim, Annie. Swim. Come on – You can do this. Fight. It's your _choice_ to stick with him or not. But either way, no matter what you choose, I'm telling you to choose _you._ Fight for yourself and fight for your son. Finn's not the prize here. And if he can't get on board, push his dead-weight over the side." I lean back and watch as her eyes clear. When she blinks a few times and doesn't burst immediately into tears, I announce, "Now, I'm going to find Clarissa and knock her clear out of her Steve Madden's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For 'Fremus: the caber toss is all you, lady.
> 
> This particular festival is based on The Smoky Mountain Scottish Festival and Games, with a few creative modifications. Their website is: smokeymountaingames dot org. I would also like to say how thankful I am for Youtube. Seriously. What did we ever do before it?
> 
> There was so much research done for these two chapters: tartan patterns, clan mottos, Highland games events, food, etc. that the research alone cost me a week. My Tumblr has more info on kilt patterns, events, etc. Come talk to me! (Johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com, or Sohypothetically dot tumblr dot com.)
> 
> If I offend anyone, I apologize. Any errors regarding Scottish culture are mine.


	37. The Arena

I strut into the tent. Once there, though, I'm at a loss: the place is packed tighter than the Hawthorne's dinner table _._ I don't even see the guys, that's how crazy the tent is. I do notice, though, that it's really Jason Mraz -wearing a kilt, and a fedora- on stage performing _The Dynamo of Volition._ I force my way to the side, just hoping to get out of the way, when I hear Elizabeth's normally well-modulated voice call my name in a rather frazzled way.

I turn toward the sound. "Elizabeth?" Sure enough she's not too far away, standing in front of a bar I hadn't noticed and holding a tray of drinks.

She smiles in relief. "Johanna! It _is_ you. I was just lamenting how I was going to get these over to two totally different sets of gentlemen. Would you be a dear and take this tray over to that table over there? I'll deliver the other one. I don't know if you recognize anyone there-"

"Isn't that Eldon Tyrell? From Tyrell Corp?"

Elizabeth nods. "Yes, dear. His is the martini. All the others have First Round Draft. It's quite popular today."

I swallow hard: Tyrell Corp is so far beyond the cutting edge that other companies just clean up the blood they leave behind. It's the kind of company that offers only a small number of coveted internships that usually go to the snobby, super-smart kids from CalTech. I would kill someone with my bare hands just for a chance to work there. And talking to Mr. Tyrell – hell, even being in the same _room_ with him – is a huge honor.

So, I do what I'm supposed to and pick up the damn tray. All I need to do is walk a hundred feet, say hello, hand everyone his drink and then leave. How hard can that be, right? Of course, I it goes without saying that I can't spill the freaking beer, either.

I make it over to the table, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth the entire time. There's a weird lull in the conversation when I pass the beverages around and I decide that I have to say something. This is, after all, my one chance in a lifetime to talk to a _legend._ I take a breath, plant the last glass, and say, "Congratulations on your advances in actuator miniaturization." It's a mouthful. But I'm glad I get it out without stumbling over it. Or throwing up.

A couple of the guys look like I just said something in Greek and I surmise that they must not work for Tyrell. The only one I care about, though, smiles at me through his thick glasses. "You follow my company." It's not a question. I suppose that Mr. Tyrell must be used to all sorts of tech groupies. Really, it's amazing he's not annoyed at the intrusion.

"Of course. Tyrell Corp is the leading edge in robotics and nanotech. The applications for your work are staggering - everything from prosthetics to cancer therapies to surgery to manufacturing. And the fact that you're located here and not in Silicon Valley…"

"Yes. That is a stroke of luck for some, Tyrell's answers coolly, then takes a sip of his drink.

I'm dismissed, that's clear. I tuck the tray under my arm and turn on my heel to make my way back to the bar, but I don't get two steps before I'm grabbed in a bear hug.

"Lass! So glad to see ye!"

"Hello, Angus." I have to untangle myself from his fly plaid. Which is easier said than done while holding the tray and making sure the kilt pin at his shoulder doesn't poke me in the eye.

Angus looks past me. "Eldon! How are ye! I see ye've met my protégé, here. Eldon Tyrell, this is Johanna Mason. I'm hoping she's going to intern at MacLeod's over the summer."

_Uh…what?_

Angus is beaming and ignoring my utter shock. I'm even more stunned when Tyrell rises to his feet, shakes Angus's hand, and slides a look my way. "She seems like quite a bright young lady."

"Oh, she is. She's sharp as a tack and a quick learner to boot. It's so hard to find young talent that's willing to get their hands dirty without telling ye constantly how wrong ye are, or needing constant direction." Angus rolls his eyes and Tyrell chuckles. "This one's a real keeper. She'll give us some new blood." Angus gives my shoulders another shake.

Tyrell eyes me the way a hungry person eyes a steak. "She's not wearing the MacLeod plaid. Careful someone doesn't steal her away from you."

I have no idea what the old man is up to, but he's glowing like Santa Claus after a plate full of cookies on Christmas Eve. I shake his hand off my shoulders. "I've got to get back to Elizabeth. Angus, Mr. Tyrell, have a wonderful time today."

I slink back to the edge of the tent as I hear Angus say with a toothy grin, "And she's so polite, too."

_What movie is he watching?_

I finally find the guys and drag them back outside. How long does it take to get a beer and some snacks, even with the line? I figure Peeta's got enough on his two plates to feed both Katniss and a small army, so the girls will be appeased. But I almost unwittingly make him dump those yummy edibles all over the ground when I plant my feet in total shock at what I see at our table. Or who, rather.

Who knew – who even _suspected_ – that Haymitch could pull off a kilt? Or that he's been hiding a pretty nice bod underneath his wrinkled chambray shirts and baggy jeans? If the chest hair and the skirt don't shock me, then the fact that he's rocking a linen shirt so fine that it probably cost as much as my car shouldn't either. The guy finally looks the filthy-rich, obstinate bastard that he is.

It's sort of hot, actually.

"Not a word, Mason," he growls when he sees us. "I've already had all the sass I can take from Sweetheart, here."

Katniss smirks in a way I'm sure Haymitch doesn't appreciate as he rises, empty glass in hand. Peeta slides into Haymitch's seat, showing quite a bit of masculine thigh as he hikes the kilt up to straddle the bench. Katniss doesn't seem to mind, though, and one of her hands disappears from the table. Hopefully, she's just helping him adjust or holding his hand and not tossing his caber. If you get my drift.

"I was just going to say that you have nice legs," I say levelly as the rest of us settle in.

His eyes narrow and he grumbles as he walks toward the tent, "I knew this was a fucking horrible idea."

Peeta spends the next few minutes explaining everything that's on the plates the boys filled. He even smacks my hand away when I try to pilfer something off of one before he's through.

"You don't know what that is yet."

I roll my eyes. "It's a Scottish hot pocket. Now give it here."

He gapes. "A Scottish _hot pocket?_ That's a meat pie with lamb, potatoes, peas, and carrots in a balsamic and black currant reduction, spiced with anise, and wrapped in pate brisee."

"Yeah, that's what I said." I slide one off the plate and it's in my mouth before he can stop me. Holy fuck is it good, too. The pie crust is flaky and perfect, the meat shredded and a little gamey but totally toned down by the sweetness of the sauce. Add in the spicy element of the anise, and it's perfection. "You need to figure out how to make this," I say as I lick my fingers and snag another one.

That must be enough for everyone else to call the plate fair game, because Peeta can't stop the hordes in time to tell us what the rest of it is. And who really cares? If Elizabeth arranged it, it's got to be amazing.

I spot Haymitch making his way back to us wearing his signature scowl when he's stopped by Angus. The two men clap each other on the shoulders like old friends, Angus gesturing broadly to Haymitch's Highland get-up. Haymitch suffers the compliment politely, but I can tell by the grimace he's not one hundred percent comfortable having another guy ogle his legs. I'm fairly certain he's in the clear when Angus says something that has Haymitch cock his head in the strangest of ways. Suddenly, he's the one gesticulating. He even points at our table once or twice. Angus gives a thoughtful look our way, nods, and offers Haymitch his giant bear paw of a hand. They shake and Haymitch strides determinedly in our direction.

"What's going on?" Brue asks. Leave it to him to notice the weird, manly display between his grandfather and Haymitch.

Haymitch levels Brue with a cool stare. "Get out."

"Wha-"

"You heard me. You, kid, are now the enemy. No offense."

"What the fuck, Haymitch?" Like I'm just going to let Haymitch order my boyfriend around? The only person who gets to do that is me.

Haymitch closes his eyes for a moment, like he has the biggest headache imaginable. "We have just agreed to a clan challenge."

"A what?" Gale asks.

Brue looks at Haymitch, then around the table. "It's where a clan dares another to a test of strength and skill."

Madge is the first one to put it together. "So, if the MacLeod's are the _enemy_ , then who's the other clan?"

Haymitch is silent for a minute as he looks around the table.

"No. No way. _We're it?_ " A bubble of laughter pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. Because he's got to be kidding, right? "Madge and Gale, Katniss and Peeta, Annie and Finn, and me? That's the team you're betting on? Peeta's injured, Annie's got Sam...and wait a second. What do you get if we win?"

A pinched look crosses Haymitch's face, like he doesn't want to admit that there might be a small wager. I refuse to back down, though, and he knows I'm not leaving this table without an answer.

"There's a thirty year old bottle of Macallan riding on the outcome."

Brue whistles. "That's a nineteen hundred dollar bottle of Scotch."

"Which is why I'll say it one more time: you're the enemy. Now, scram. We need to talk strategy."

Brue doesn't seem intimidated, in spite of Haymitch's bushy scowl. He takes his time getting up from the table, even taking another raspberry jam tart from the still-heaping plate. He drops a kiss on my forehead and says for my ears only, "Angus takes this seriously. I'd better go find my clan."

 _Duh_. Like really-old-Scotch seriously. It's not lost on me that Brue's as good as told me that they've had this happen before. They have experience. Us? We've got a gimp, a mom who's wearing a Snugli, and me - a girl who can't even get her axe to stick in a target. We're as good as dead.

I turn my attention back to Haymitch, who's explaining the events, "For the boys we have wrestling, hammer toss, and sheaf toss. Tug of war and relay racing are the joint events. For you ladies, we have battle axe throw, haggis toss, and archery."

Gale holds up his hand. "Whoa. Wait _another_ sec. What's in it for us?"

I think I hear Haymitch mutter something about Gale's attitude amidst a deep sigh. "Well, let's see: you're into politics, yeah? Want to go to law school or some shit eventually? Well, there's a bunch of old-money guys here who have firms, or retired from firms, or have _pull_ in firms. Capisce? And Baker Boy could probably use a business internship so he can help out at his parents' bakery and figure out that his mom's probably cooking the books. And Jo wants an internship at Tyrell and I happen to know he's already made a side bet with Angus. Pretty Boy here can probably bank on some awesome press pictures of him while he's shirtless and in a kilt. Do I need to go on? Every single one of you has something to gain from this."

We all glance at each other because Haymitch has a point. We put on a good showing and this could be some serious shit for each of us: Jobs. Internships. Money. We'd be legends; victors.

Peeta pipes up, "I'll take wrestling. I was going to do that event anyway."

"But your leg-"

"I'll be fine, Katniss. I'll just be extra careful."

We divide up the rest of the events: Finn on sheaf toss, whatever that is, Gale on hammer toss, I take battle axe throw, and Katniss ponies up for archery. Annie and Madge do rock, paper, scissors for the haggis throw – which sounds gross – and Annie draws the short straw. Gale gets a little pissy over why there's no archery event for guys.

Haymitch shuts him down. "Whine much? Crying about it isn't going to change it." He mumbles something about Gale being a baby, which I agree with, then remembers something. "Oh, and no one leave. There's one more thing…Effie!" he yells, "Get your ass over here."

Effie trots over on these amazing black sandals with heels that look like teeth. _Teeth._ When did Gene Simmons start a footwear line? Whereas every other woman here either looks like the Queen or like they're attending a costume party, Effie has a dress on that matches Haymitch's plaid perfectly and isn't ostentatious in the least. Oh, sure, it's got the same expensive look as his linen shirt, but it's deceptively simple in styling and cut. No frills here, that's for sure. Just a showcase of her rail-thin body.

Her trainer must be so proud.

"Haymitch! Don't say the word _ass_. It's vulgar," she tuts.

"How did the two of you ever end up together?" I shake my head incredulously before I even realize I've said the words out loud.

Haymitch's gray eyes flash in my direction. "She likes what I've got under my skirt."

 _Blech. Blech._ OMG. It's like I just walked in on my parents having sex. And sure, Effie whacks him across the arm, but the look she gives him is so indulgent and _knowing_ that it's both repulsive and strangely awesome. Can you imagine what the two of them are into?

"Okay, everyone. Effie's going to help our _clan_ get geared up. Everyone wears the Abernathy plaid. Somewhere _visible._ " He emphasizes the word like he knows one of us is going to ask. "The first event is hammer toss in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."

I can't help but be a little bitter at the feeling of being used like this. Like we're lambs to the slaughter. "That's it? That's your 'Win one for the Gipper' speech? Where's the inspiration, Haymitch?"

Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose as he stares each of us down. "You want inspiration? Fine. Stay alive."

He sweeps out, leaving us in the capable, well-manicured hands of Effie. "Alright, everyone, you heard Haymitch! Let's get you changed. Ladies first, of course!"

-o—

You know that slow-mo scene where the astronauts walk together in _The Right Stuff?_ Imagine if the astronauts wore kilts and you pretty much get how we look taking the field. The girls have gotten creative with our tartans. Madge wanted us to showcase our uniqueness, so she's wearing a fly plaid draped as a sarong over her blue sundress. Annie's using a length of fabric as a Moby wrap so she can carry Sam hands-free. Katniss has a small plaid scarf draped over her shoulder, affixed there by a gold kilt pin – a bird in profile, holding an arrow - that Madge pilfered from Effie. She hadn't been too happy to give it over, claiming it was an heirloom of Haymitch's but Madge had insisted it would be good luck. And me? I decided to get comfortable and grab my running stuff out of my car. As a result, I'm in sneakers, a sports bra, and the smallest kilt we could find in the right pattern. Annie's even drawn a copy of Katniss's pin on my cheek.

I may not be able to get an axe to stick, but I can still intimidate with pep. _Go. Team_.

And we're going to need all the help we can get, judging from the hotties who join us on the battleground. All the boys swap their kilts for the Abernathy pattern and elect to go shirtless except Peeta. The other team has the same idea, and the stands are packed as a result of more gratuitous, bulging, bare flesh than a FDNY charity calendar. I'm not sure who's got a bigger following: Brue and Cato, or Finn and Gale.

Gale saunters over to the refs or umpires or whatever they're called while he pulls a glove over his right hand in prep for the coin toss. He wins. I guess Gale must be an honorary Scot, because his throw isn't bad at all. As a matter of fact, I wonder if he's secretly been reading up on these events. Because there's no way that he knew how to throw what turns out to be a twenty-two pound ball attached to a handle that's seems almost longer than Katniss is tall without sneaking in some YouTube hammer porn.

When I say something to that effect to Madge, she just watches him with a proud expression. "He does have a good grip, don't you think?"

He puts in the second-longest toss behind a wiry guy I've nicknamed Marvel. Why? Well, because when Marvel twirls to throw the hammer, his kilt shows how much a Scotsman he really is. Do I really need to explain further?

Finn's next up with the sheaf toss. That's _sheaf._ Annie had to say it for me three times before I caught on that it was not a game of spearing sheep and tossing them overhead. What's a sheaf toss? Well, it looks like wheat or grain or rye or something, wrapped in brown fabric. The thrower spears it with a pitchfork-looking tool, then throws it over a high bar. It's sort of like pole vaulting, only the burlap package is what makes the leap.

Finn takes the field, waving Haymitch off, flexing his muscles, and showing off his trident tattoo. I think I hear girls swoon in the stands. More importantly for Finn, I'm sure, is the whirr of auto-focus lenses and the clicks of shutters: he'll be all over Kilt Porn Weekly at bare minimum. He is not the first to go, thankfully, so he'll get to watch a brute in the MacLeod plaid throw first. That should be enough for him to get the rhythm down, knowing what a quick-study Finn is.

This is clearly not the brute's first rodeo, judging from the way he carries the speared bundle. As if in confirmation, Brutus does this amazingly smooth stroke to the front and then the back, like he's dancing rather than getting set to hurl twenty pounds of grain off a giant fork. It's a couple of strokes, then a giant heave-ho and the package goes up and over the bar.

Finn goes next and does his best to imitate the man. He too, clears the bar.

Pretty soon it's a back and forth. Finn's drenched in sweat and I can tell his handhold on the pitchfork is slippery at best. He's no longer focused on playing to the crowd, but wears an intense expression that I've only seen a few times: during practice for cheerleading or when he's swimming. I know he wants to nail this, but he's smaller than Brutus. Less experienced. He's bound to fail.

Finn hangs his head in defeat when the sheaf fails to clear the bar three times. I hope for a split second that the experience teaches him some humility. But then Brutus smiles and pumps his meaty fist in the air, which just makes me want to punch him in the throat. Really, I hope he just goes and forks himself.

Get it?

Wrestling's up next. I'm happy that Peeta's not even limping after getting decimated by a caber earlier – although I suppose he now knows the pounding Katniss's vag goes through every time he whips it out. I'm not even a little surprised by the fact that Cato is the guy who joins him on the field. We all try to lean in and hear what the ref says about how the match goes, but he's not loud enough for us to hear. So we watch as Peeta frowns, then nods and shakes Cato's hand. Peeta leans forward and asks the ref something before trotting back to where we stand at the ropes that separate the field from the spectators.

I roll my eyes. He's probably going to lay one on Everdeen for luck or something. They haven't even been separated for two seconds. Sure, the crowd loves it. But can we please get this show on the road? I want to get to my own event so I can get humiliated, go home, get drunk, and let my boyfriend storm my castle walls.

Peeta doesn't lean in for a kiss, though. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, then hands it to a speechless Katniss while the crowd yells their approval. He's returning to the field when he turns back to her and swoops her against his manly chest. It's Katniss who leans in and plants one on him, grabbing his short hair in her two fists as if she can hold him to her for life. They may be playing to the crowd again, but when he whispers something against her lips that only she is meant to hear and they both blush, I'm pretty sure it's unplanned. And, with Peeta, the blush goes all the way to his chest.

Now, let me tell you a little bit about Scottish backhold wrestling: it's sweaty, dirty, grueling, and it's fucking _hot._ I don't mean just in the temperature sense, either. The guys face each other and loop arms around their opponent's backs. They rest their chins on each other's right shoulder, right hand under the left arm of their opponent.

Yeah. You've got it in your head, right? It looks like they're slow dancing with a guy who has cooties: faces close together, feet far apart. Okay, so imagine how Peeta's blond hair glints in the sun, as does Cato's. Their naked backs are exposed, Peeta's pale with a scar that looks like a red badge of courage, Cato's tanned and smooth, as the two of them try to stand as far from each other as physically possible while still holding on. Oh, and did I mention that they're barefoot?

The crowd goes still as the ref yells, "Hold!"

Like a shot, that pent up energy explodes. Cato may have power, but Peeta's got a slightly lower center of gravity. They're straining against each other almost immediately, hands sliding across skin that is rapidly sweaty. This isn't like dancing, either. This is straining thighs and calves, flesh planted against flesh as the guys brace themselves and gather their wits. It's the most homo-erotic thing I've seen since I watched _Magic Mike_.

That's when it dawns on me that Peeta knew what he was about when he took off his shirt: he knew he'd get sweaty and didn't want Cato to have a handhold advantage.

Peeta makes some sort of move with his feet and hips that forces Cato off balance. The two of them crash to the ground and the ref holds up his hand, indicating that we have a point.

A point!

Peeta scores two more in quick succession. Katniss is ecstatic. Even Haymitch cracks a smile. I'm a little worried though – Peeta's built more for power than endurance and I'm sure Cato knows it. Plus, our boy is now limping slightly and breathing heavily. Haymitch tosses him a water bottle which he takes and guzzles before striding back to the ref.

They're grappling it out again, obliques straining as each tries to fling the other to the ground when I notice Cato's doing something with his feet. He's taller than Peeta, so he should be bracing further from him, not closer. I don't think there's any way that kicking can be legal, so his lower leg moving that close can only mean one thing. I don't even have time to yell when Cato sweeps one way with his foot and twists the opposite way with his arms and torso. Peeta lands flat on his back, winded, and immediately grabs for his left leg.

"Penalty!" the ref shouts.

Penalty? I'd like to show Cato a penalty. Or two. From the look on Katniss's face, I'm not the unique in that, either.

Peeta manages to get to his feet with the help of Haymitch, who plays a very convincing Mr. Miyagi. Cato looks crestfallen that he didn't hurt Peeta worse. He actually shrugs when he sees Peeta standing next to the ref, like sweeping the leg was nothing. _Fucking Cobra Kai._ I send a glare his way and another to Brue for good measure. At least Brue has the grace to flush at the antics of his teammate.

"He's fine," Haymitch assures us as the guys take the backhold stance. "It's not his knee."

We all hold our breath as they grapple with each other. Cato's not stupid enough to try a stunt like that again, but we can really see how weary Peeta is. Cato's able to push him around like it's nothing. They've marched halfway across the wrestling area when Peeta plants his bad foot behind him like a brace and veers up and to the left, lifting Cato clear off the ground and throwing him. The impact makes _my_ teeth hurt, that's how hard it is. But the only thing I can think of is that Cato deserved it.

Katniss is biting her nails so fiercely that she practically has her whole hand in her mouth by the time the ref calls "Hold!" on the match point.

I think I hear her mutter, "Come on, Peeta" just as he springs to life. It's like he's found some sort of hidden reserve, or he's thinking of the biggest, coldest Slurpee in the world. Because, although Cato tries, Peeta isn't putting up with being manhandled this time. He owns the match, this much is obvious. Cato might as well just lay down and die, especially when I notice Peeta's feet: he's trying to plant them like he did for last point. Only this time, he's doing it in reverse, with his left leg forward.

What the hell? Is he going to be able to get enough leverage to fling Cato from left to right instead?

Peeta manages to make the hold work. The fact that he's going from his non-dominant side must confuse Cato until it's too late because he ends up flat on his back, sucking wind.

Cato is a lo-o-o-oser.

No time to gloat, though, because we move right to team events: relay first. We're letting Peeta sit this one out, so it's going to be Madge, Finn, and Gale. I had insisted that Madge take a shot – she's slower than I am, but she's got to be better at the battle axe throw portion of it. Right? Oh, did I neglect to mention that there is a battle axe portion? The first leg is a fifty yard dash to a station with three battle axes that have to be thrown for points. The second leg is a dash back fifty yards carrying a hay bale. The third leg starts with a sixteen pound shot put throw, and ends with a fifty yard dash.

We are so screwed.

I try to remain positive, especially for Madge who has taken off her super-cute sandals for this. When the gun goes off, she's even got a shot because Gloss is slower. But Madge only sticks one axe, and it's outside the point zone. Finn staggers under the weight of the hay bale, but he makes it to the line faster than Brutus. Gale versus Brue, though? Brue looks like he was born with a stone weight on his shoulder, and he's faster than a twelve year old jerking off to his dad's Playboy. It's no contest.

We lose. We all pat each other on the back in a group hug and move on to the tug of war.

Peeta insists on being the anchor despite his injury, so we decide that it's time for the six of us to show some brawn. That includes Annie, so she hands over Sam to Haymitch, Effie, and Madge with a kiss and a wave. Effie looks like Madge was just handed a slug, but Haymitch is surprising comfortable. He even tucks Sam into the crook of his arm and points at where we're all getting situated, bare feet and all.

Yeah. Again with the bare feet.

We put the girls in the front after much arguing. It seems like a good strategy, though, especially when we notice that the MacLeods are doing the same thing. Like I really want to stare at Gloss and her red-haired friend with the pointy chin? No. But I also know that we've got one more girl than the other team, so we're already at a disadvantage. Add to that the fact that Peeta's injured…

I notice Brue's frown of concentration and try to ignore it as the match starts.

Fuck. They're strong.

We manage to hold our own through the first two minutes. "How're you holding up, Peeta?" I yell. I can't see behind me, but I know he's the lynchpin. He loses it, and we're beyond screwed.

Finn answers, "I've got him, Jo. He's bracing on me."

"You've got him? Then who's got you?"

"Will you guys stop talking?" Gale grits through his teeth. "Less lip, more tug!"

I'd like to flip Gale off, but I know that's an amazingly bad idea. Finn and I need to talk under stress: it's what we do best. Well, okay, it's the thing I do _second_ best. I ignore Gale and hope Peeta can follow my lead. "Finn, did I tell you that I learned how to undo button fly jeans with my teeth?"

Finn lets out a bark of a laugh, and we gain six inches or so. _That a boy, Peeta._ "No, you didn't mention it. Should I be worried that my kilt's riding up my taut thighs? I hope no one sneaks a peak."

Did Finn just use the word "taut"? He must have, because a bunch of sighs come to me from the stands. More importantly, we gain another few inches.

Cato glares at us from behind Gloss. "Will you guys shut up? God. No wonder you can't win any events."

We lose half our lead at their next tug, but I don't let it bother me because I know I'm getting to him. Sure, my arms are tired. But I hold on because I know we can do this. Sometimes all you need to succeed is a little spark of hope, right?

Until Gloss opens her mouth. "Did you like the magazine I gave you, Annie? Such an interesting article."

Oh no. I can't turn around to make sure Annie's okay, but I can narrow my eyes and tug that fucking bitch toward me. No one messes with Annie. No one. I must not be the only one to think it, because we gain some ground. _Fuck you, Gloss._

I want to say we've got this. I almost think we do. But this horrible sound comes from behind me – it's somewhere between a yell and a sob. It sounds like cloth tearing and it totally curdles my blood. Because…because…it's Annie. Is she falling apart? Did she let go and get us disqualified?

No. It's a battle cry. Annie's tugging with all her might, and we're all right there with her, rallying and pulling. Showing that bitch that she may have gotten a good shot in, but we're not just going to lay down and die. Every last one of us is going to fight.

Gloss's smile slides right off her face as we win.

Annie's still riding the high that only kicking someone's ass can give when she takes the field for haggis hurl, which sounds way grosser than it is. The announcer tells everyone the story of how it harkens back to when women would hurl their husband's lunches across streams to them. The actual object is a weighted shot bag. But here's the rub: the hurlee has to stand on top of a half-barrel.

I swear, it's like these contests are the craziest drinking games.

Anyway, so Annie swaggers over to the referee and volunteers to go first. Volun-fucking-teers. Is that ballsy or what? And here I thought Finn and Peeta were the only ones with a flair for the dramatic. The MacLeods are still shell-shocked from their tug of war loss, so they don't utter a single protest to Annie's show of bravado. Nor does anyone seem surprised when she takes to the half–barrel with all the natural balance of a swimmer taking the block. Her throws are almost anticlimactic, and she's back at our side and taking Sam from Finn with a smile in less than two minutes.

"What?" She smiles sweetly as she tucks Sam back into the plaid wrapping, adjusting him so he nurses discreetly.

I shake my head. "Just…you…your throw…" She's easily given us this event. Easily. And it didn't even look like work.

She shrugs. "Swimmer's shoulders, I guess. The weight is sixteen pounds, and I've been lifting this little guy for months. I guess you could say that Sam helped me train."

"I guess." I see that the targets for the bane of my existence, the battle axe throw, are up and waiting, so I turn to make my way over.

"Johanna?" Annie calls after me, "I'm fighting."

I nod. Because fuck, yeah she is. I answer her with the motto for our school: we aren't the USC Trojans for nothing. "Fight on, Annie."

"Fight on."

Her words drift to me as I take the field. I'm no longer tired, despite how noodle-like my arms feel. My shoulders are loose and take the weight of the axe easily. And when I stand in front of the first target, I hear Annie's cheers louder than anyone's. Maybe that's what gives me more strength and precision than I had earlier. Maybe it's knowing that Brue, Angus, and Elizabeth are watching my form. Maybe it's because I see Cato and Gloss and their shit-eating grins when I look at the target. All I know is that it's quiet in my head. Sharp. Like when I run, I swear I can hear the blood in my own veins, feel every breath, and see every blade of glass. It's like I'm outside myself, watching as I lay down a gauntlet no one can touch. My axe is sharp. My throws are true.

Every single one sticks.

Even Gale congratulates me with a punch on the arm when I clearly out-throw Gloss. Her teammates look like they might vomit, especially when a few of them saw my horrible showing earlier in the day. Let them think what they want: I earned the win with my own sweat and muscle.

"Nice work." Katniss stretches her shoulders for her upcoming contribution.

"Thanks. You've got this – the MacLeods are history." I punctuate my statement with a proffered fist for Katniss to bump. There's not a doubt in my mind that Katniss Everdeen is going to wipe the floor with Gloss, who's also competing in archery. Ten targets. Ten. Even at two hundred feet, it's a no brainer.

Unfortunately, it's a no brainer for Gloss as well: each of the ladies hits ten bullseyes.

Haymitch actually utters, "Well fuck _me_ ," as he strides toward the referee. Angus meets him in the middle and the three men have a hushed conversation. Finally, the tall, gray-haired referee announces that there will be a shoot-out and that the MacLeods will shoot first as the host clan.

"What's a shoot-out in archery?" I ask. Madge has no answer. Neither does Gale. We just have to sit tight and wait for Haymitch to tell us what's going on.

Haymitch paces in front of us. "Five more targets. Five. And Sweetheart has to hit them from the same position as Blondie over there."

Peeta gapes. "You mean like an archery version of H-O-R-S-E?"

Haymitch smirks, then shrugs. "Pretty much." He turns to Gale. "Think she can handle it?"

"Anything that Barbie-wanna-be can dish out, Katniss can take."

So we sit and we watch. Gloss goes for different angles, particularly concentrating at the thirty degree angle, which can't be easy. When that doesn't succeed in making Katniss miss, she tries for an action shot and almost blows it when she runs up to a barrier and fires rapidly from behind it. Each time she lets an arrow fly, Everdeen matches her shot for shot. But I also know that there's no way that Katniss isn't getting antsy: not with this many people watching her.

People aren't really her thing.

Gloss takes a break and goes to confer with her clan for a minute. When she returns, Cato's with her. He's holding an apple and has the biggest imaginable shit-eating grin on his face. Like he thinks there's no way on God's green earth that Katniss can best them with whatever they've got cooked up. He stands in front of the target, tossing the apple from hand to hand and waiting for Gloss's signal. When it comes, he tosses the apple in the air and steps out of her targeting line. She goes for the moving target first and neatly skewers the apple, then hits the target dead-center with a second arrow. The crowd cheers loudly and the MacLeods look triumphant.

Haymitch gestures to Katniss, who strides over and kicks some dirt with her sandaled toe.

When he puts his hand on her shoulder in a fatherly fashion, she shrugs it off angrily. "This is B.S. Did you see that? It's like we're at a carnival," Katniss practically spits. "Trick shots with apples? What's next, fake birds?"

"Are you saying you can do better?" Haymitch asks sarcastically. Obviously, the man's never seen her shoot.

Gale pipes up in her defense, "I know she can: she hunts actual, live animals, after all. It's pretty obvious that Clarissa is used to target practice only."

Haymitch rubs the stubble on his chin for a few seconds. "So, what do you suggest? Because the rules say that we shoot what they shoot."

Gale looks thoughtful, as if he's trying to puzzle out what should happen next.

Peeta, who's looking from Gale to Katniss and back again, says, "Why do we have to play their game? Why not play our own?"

"What do you mean?" Katniss cocks her head as if she's willing to listen.

Gale and Peeta lock gazes over her head. Gale says slowly, "I think that Peeta's saying that it's time to show everyone what you can really do."

Peeta nods solemnly.

A minute later, Gale's got everything he needs in his hands. He doesn't tell Katniss what he's planning, but those two don't really need words to communicate and I'm finally getting why Gale figured that the two of them would end up together. There's no extra flourish to their motions as they take the field. At the last minute, Peeta limps out with them.

"Forget about what's in it for everyone. We can go home. Just…focus on going home," Peeta says. He strokes her braid, tugs the end once, then drops a kiss on her forehead. He moves to the side and a hush falls over the spectators.

I have no freaking idea what Hawthorne is up to, but the MacLeods don't look worried, especially because it's obvious from where Gale and Katniss stand that the targets are not in play. They've probably counted us out already. I clench my fists. _Fat chance._ Because they have no idea the effect Katniss can have.

She's loose-limbed and focused when Gale's voice cries out sharply, "Geese!" He hurls five apples into the air, one after another. Without missing a beat, arrows fly and skewer each apple in succession.

"Katniss!" Peeta's yell comes right as the last apple hits the ground.

She whirls on him reflexively, bow cocked at where he stands in front of the target. He opens one large fist and holds an apple in front of the bulls-eye. It gleams as red as rubies. As red as his kilt. As red as blood.

_Oh God! What's he doing? Peeta's a target!_

My legs can't move. Every muscle in my body freezes. Hell, even the air is stuck in my lungs.

His hair glints in the sunlight and his sparkling eyes meet hers above her weapon. He nods slightly, expression solemn.

_Oh, fuck m-_

An arrow thuds as it pierces the target dead center, the apple impaled clean through.

-o—

"I can't believe you beat us." Brue sounds incredulous, or maybe just really tired. I know the feeling: I'm so tired that my aches have aches.

"Yeah, well, you guys were pussies." _Ha._ Like I'm going to admit to him that I'm amazed? His team had home field advantage as well as familiarity with events. We had…the odds in our favor. That's it. "What about Peeta, huh? Who knew he had such a flair for the dramatic? I mean, to stand in front of the target like that...love is weird." I shudder, still horrified at the memory.

I roll over on the grass where he and I are lying side by side while we listen to a lone bagpiper close out the events for the day. It's late – Finn and Annie have long gone home, Madge and Gale have commandeered my car to whisk them to the luxury hotel downtown for their make-up Valentine's tryst, and Katniss and Peeta are either back at the frat or holed up in a cozy cave playing Show Me Your Piledriver. "Did you see the tall, gray-haired ref tell Katniss he's never seen shooting like that?"

"Yeah. Angus was so shocked he gave over the Scotch _and_ a week at his place in Tahoe. You mean Boggs?" He shakes his head. "I missed that. But I heard him ask Peeta what the name of his microbrew company is." At my confused look, he adds, "Boggs is a distributor. At least, he keeps Angus stocked for most of his parties. He must have noticed how popular Peeta's beer was here today." He sighs heavily, like turning and looking at me is too much work. He's thoughtful when he says, "And Peeta didn't _stand_ in front of the target. He _made himself_ a target. That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

"Same diff. And Peeta doesn't _have_ a brewing company, although he does give good head from what I hear. What did he say?"

"He told him it's called Arena Brewing."

I lie back because balancing on an arm to look at him is too much work. My arms and back are so sore that I might just use my vibrator for something besides trying to break the record for loudest consecutive orgasms. I let the silence wash over me along with the L.A. twilight that bathes us in oranges and pinks and even lavender. It's so dramatic, so fake looking, that it's like an Easter egg threw up. Or someone tried to tie-dye the sky. Still, I love the fact that Brue and I can just be next to each other and not have to talk all the time. I can't think of a better way to end the day.

I'm almost asleep when Brue asks quietly, "When are you going home?"

My heart starts to race. I've been meaning to talk to him about my plans for the summer, but it's never really seemed like the right time. I mean, it's not like I need his approval for anything, but he is part of the reason to stay. A really big part. So I try to act casual when I say, "I was thinking about staying in L.A. I've already asked Finn and he says it's cool if I crash with them."

"Of course he said it was ok."

I level him a look that tells him I don't like his tone - I may be flat on my back, but I've still got enough energy left to beat him up. I aim for cool and casual, though I glance into the distance when I say, "I thought that we might…well, maybe spend some time together this summer. If I'm here. You know." My palms are so sweaty that I have to resist rubbing them on my kilt, especially when he doesn't answer right away. Finally, I turn to look at him, only to find that his blue eyes are already on me. "Don't gush with excitement or anything."

His eyes crinkle around the edges. "That's just so _optimistic_ of you. Does this mean you like me? You must. You must _really_ like me to want to stay in L.A for the summer."

I'm tired, but I can still muster up some attitude. "Fuck you, Brue. Maybe I just want to hang around and see if I you can hook me up with a hotter musician. Does your dad know Austin Mahone?" I pull myself to my feet with a groan before grumbling, "And don't tell me how I feel." He laughs, the column of his throat tan and arching. I want to run my tongue along it to taste the salt gathered on his skin in the hollow below his Adam's apple. I resist it the only way I know how – I walk away, my kilt swaying in time to my hips. I'm not sure where this sudden second wind came from, but I know just the way to work through it.

He pushes to his elbows and eyes me up and down with a glint in his eye that tells me he might not be quite as tired as he seems. "Where do you think you're going?"

I give him my best _come hither_ look over my shoulder. "Don't the victor's get a prize? Follow me." I jerk my head to the where the jacaranda give way to the heavier tree line.

Brue rises to his feet. It's amazing that he still makes me tingle in the best way and anticipation settles low in my gut. "You mean a boon? Be gentle with me. I'm recovering." He stands very close and pulls me to him so our bodies collide. It feels so good to be up against him that I close my eyes briefly. When I open them, his are laughing down at me.

I cock an eyebrow. "I hope you still keep your sporran stocked. The Games are supposed to be a test of strength and stamina, right? And they're not over yet." I lean forward, grabbing his bottom lip between my teeth and sucking gently for a second before winding my arms around his neck and whispering in his ear, "As for taking it easy on you, I'm going to drive it like I stole it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the Adair plaid as Finn's. Haymitch's is the Abernethy plaid. The Abernethy clan's crest is actually a bird – a raven. I thought that was particularly portentous and used it as the Mockingjay pin. It was important that Madge still be the one to give it to Katniss, though.


	38. Cupid's Arrow (A Gadge Outtake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: light BDSM (spanking, bondage), power exchange, and M content

Madge sinks her toes into the plush carpeting of the room she's reserved at the Westin Bonaventure, breathes deeply and releases a sigh. She isn't sure what it is about luxury hotels, but the air is sweeter and quieter than anywhere else on earth. The anticipation of crisp, high thread count sheets, room service continental breakfast, and, most importantly, a bathroom that she doesn't have to share with an entire dorm floor restores her equilibrium after the crazy day she's had. Competing in a Scottish games isn't exactly the relaxing day she had planned leading up to tonight, even if she and her friends had won.

Now that she's here, she takes another deep breath as she places her bag carefully on the king size bed, which has already been turned down invitingly. Just as she requested, there's champagne and strawberries chilling along with two flutes on the small table by the window. A single orchid graces the tray. She knows it will have no scent but puts her nose to it anyway. She's pleased that the hotel heeded her instructions: no roses. Nothing so plebeian for her Kitten.

She muses that there's not much her mother's credit card won't pay for, no request that her father's name won't fulfill. And the best part is that her mom won't say a word, even when the statement comes in bearing charges she never authorized for a hotel three thousand miles away. Madge wonders if her mother even reads the statements. Does she authorize payment before or after the first of her pills for the day? Madge would lay money on the fact that it's after, despite the impression her father has that her mother only uses pills to round out the rough spots. Madge knows it goes deeper than that. Either that, or her mother's soft life has a lot of hidden rough spots.

She pushes the thought away with a shove: tonight is for her, and for Gale. It has nothing to do with the likelihood that she'll be cleaning vomit off her mother in less than a week.

A cleansing drink of champagne is what she needs, she decides. The bubbles cut the sweetness of the strawberry she bites, and she swallows her favorite indulgence with her eyes closed. She thrusts aside all thoughts of her probable summer and replaces them with images of what she has planned for tonight. Gale doesn't really like champagne, so sipping it is her little rebellion. She figures she owes it to herself to splurge a little as payback for watching him and Katniss earlier in the day. And as for Gale's complaints, she's sure showing him how bubbles can tease and heighten sensation will work in her favor. Besides, he always appreciates her planning and forethought. For all his bluster and apparent temper, Gale is much more into strategizing than she ever imagined. She's glad it's something they have in common.

She tries to hold on to the memory of the first time they were together like this. Gale had willingly abdicated control, and the sight of his tall, lean frame draped over the bed, legs spread, had been beyond her wildest imaginings. He had trembled as her lips and hands stroked him long before the resounding crack of the first spank. Everything about that night had gotten her off for weeks afterward: the little hitches in his breath that highlighted his self-control; his low, pleading moans at the contact; the rush of complete control at the idea of his surrender. Somehow, tonight, that image skitters away before she can grasp it in both hands and bend it to her will.

She's placing her implements lovingly on the table she's moved next to the bed when the knock comes.

"Enter." She waits until Gale uses his key card before she adds without looking up, "You're late. I told you thirty minutes and it's been thirty five. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He's contrite as he rubs a hand through his dark hair. "I'm sorry, Madge. I lost track of time. I'll just take a quick shower-"

She cocks her eyebrow as she strides to his side. "What did you call me?" Her voice is soft but unyielding, velvet over steel.

Gale catches on quickly, although he's surprised at her aggressive stance. He's not sure if it's despite it or because of it that he's already half-hard. "M-Madge. I called you Madge."

"Yes, you did. And was I unclear as to the time I expected you?"

"No."

She cocks a perfectly shaped brow. "No, what?"

"No, Princess."

She pats his chest, noticing that his black t-shirt is, indeed, dusty and sweaty, as is the kilt he still wears. She'd much rather he be comfortable and clean for what's coming, but she knows that she can't let this little infraction go unpunished. She leans forward so she can watch as his pupils dilate slightly as the lace of her lingerie brushes against his chest. "Show me that you can follow directions, Kitten. Kneel on the bed."

He takes a moment to unlace his shoes and kick them under the bed before pulling off his shirt as well. She's thankful for his forethought, although they're both additional infractions. After all, they'll be sleeping on that bed later, and she doesn't want it dirty. She waits until he's kneeling on all fours to cross to him and stand between his legs.

"Do you know why you're being punished?" She says it quietly, but there is steel to her tone. Steel and impatience.

Her take-charge tone quickens his blood. "Yes. I called you something other than Princess. And I was late."

"…And?"

He feels a breezy movement rather than sees it, but he knows she's picked up…something…from the table. It distracts him. "And?"

She clucks her tongue at him. "And, Kitten, you removed your shoes and shirt without my permission." His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as she strikes her own palm with a smack that sounds louder than normal. "You've been a bad boy, especially since you didn't even realize everything you've done. How many spankings will help you remember for next time? Hmm?"

He feels cool, smooth wood against the back of his thighs and jerks away from the threatening hardness in surprise. Is that a paddle? It's heftier than a wooden spoon or a ping-pong paddle. Plus, it doesn't seem to have grips. Fear joins the rush of anticipation in his gut as he tries to puzzle out Madge's game. "Ten? Ten spankings, Princess."

"Oh, dear. You see, perhaps that would be enough just for the time you kept me waiting. But for all of those other things? Twenty-five, I think."

"Twenty-five?" Gale's voice actually cracks on the word. That's more than she has ever dealt him before. And given how he generally reacts to her…enthusiasm…he isn't sure if he can hold still for that long. This game of theirs has always been foreplay, not an end-game.

"Twenty-five. You'll need to count out loud as well. Lose count and we'll have to start over." Madge gently rubs her hands up the backs of his thighs, moving his kilt out of the way and exposing him to the cool air. He arches into her hands as they caress his naked backside, especially when one slips between his thighs to grasp him briefly. She smiles as he pushes into her hand as she fondles him.

_His cock is mine._

Madge sighs as she strokes him once from base to tip. She doesn't often even _think_ that word, but she like the freedom that courses through her when she does. She feels like a bad girl: it's the same charge she gets out of eating the last of the chocolate cake, or charging a hotel room to her mother's credit card, or, during Tuesday dinner just last week, when she told Gale she wanted oral in the bathroom of the frat house while their friends talked and laughed fifteen feet away.

Her fingernails dig into the tender skin at the apex of his thighs, roughly pinching and scraping until she knows there will be little red marks later. She doesn't notice that his shoulders tense, preoccupied by the fact that this time she'll be using something besides her hand. She's almost more nervous than aroused by what she has in mind. She wishes she could stop stressing about going home for the summer. If she can't let go and really enjoy herself tonight, with Gale, three thousand miles from home, how miserable is she going to be once she gets there?

The first smack lands with more force that Madge intends. Gale lurches toward the headboard and draws in a hasty breath that has her wondering if she's gone too far. She waits for him to use their safe word or to slip out of the scene some other way, but he does neither.

Instead, he draws himself back to his stance on all fours. "One."

She sighs in relief and rubs the redness like an apology. The second swat has the same force.

"Two." His voice remains firm.

Madge has to admit by the tenth hit that there's no way Gale can take much more punishment. He's redder than a lobster already, his body is clenched tight even between impacts and his voice sounds like this is something to get through rather than enjoy with each count he utters. She's not sure what exactly she's done wrong to prevent any sort of endorphin rush for either of them, but she's ready to admit defeat. She's especially sorry when she rubs his skin again with a smooth hand and realizes how hot and tender it is. One cheek sports a welt so red that she's pretty sure she's broken the skin.

"Gale, I'm so sorry." She grabs a handful of ice from the champagne bucket and rubs it on the area, wincing when he flinches even from her lightest touches. "Why didn't you use the safe word?" She doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, she strides into the bathroom and turns on the tub faucet.

-o—

_What the hell just happened?_

Gale's not sure where Madge disappeared to: it's not like her to take a breather in the middle of a spanking. Though as much as he doesn't want to admit that his ass needs a break, it does. The pain isn't enough to utter what would ultimately call a stop to the whole night, but a five minute time-out sounds great. Besides, he knows that Madge needs the release that being in control gives her: she's been wound tighter than an eight day clock since before finals. What's a little discomfort when compared to her happiness?

He swears under his breath when she doesn't quickly return and he hears something that sounds suspiciously like a muffled sob coming from the bathroom. He finds her sitting on the toilet with her hands covering her face while the tub fills. Her shoulders shake. He crosses to her, sitting on his haunches so they're the same height and only wincing a little at the tenderness. "Madge? What's wrong, Princess?"

"Don't…Don't call me that." She sniffles, "I hurt you!"

"Come on, Madge, it's nothing. I'm just a little raw, that's all." He assesses her as she sits quietly. "Talk to me."

She doesn't meet his eyes. "We were completely out of synch out there. You're never going to trust me again."

He takes a deep breath, reveling in the smell of vanilla that he's come to associate with Madge and the underlying tang of Lysol in the room that he associates with home. His carefully keeps his voice level, like he might with an animal that startles easily. "I already trust you. Do you think I would bend over for just anyone? So my ass is a little sore. I didn't use the safe word because I know you need this. Tonight is for us." He's rewarded with a half-sniffle, half-snort in response. "Will you tell me what this is really about?"

That gets her attention. Her eyes find his as she snaps, "I compromised your safety." She continues as he shuts off the water, "It wasn't good for you."

He rubs his hands over his eyes before he straightens and laughs, tugging her so she stands in front of him. "God, Madge. Is that what you think? Look at you: how could I be anything _but_ into it?" He runs a hand over the delicate strap of her lingerie until it rests just between her breasts. "Having you here is like a dream I never thought I could have. Every minute we spend together just shows me how lucky I am to have you." He nuzzles behind her ear. "And being completely uninterrupted? Knowing that you're here, wearing this, and paying all this attention to me?...It more than makes up for being a little bruised." He considers her quietly for a minute. "You know that I'll help you with your mom, right? If that's what's worrying you, I swear that you'll never have to deal with her by yourself again. Just don't shut me out."

Madge sends him a grateful look, then wipes at the eyeliner Gale knows she assumes is running down her face. She stands at her full height and waves her hand dismissively as she pulls herself together. "I'm just being silly. Let's get you into the tub."

Gale sends her a brooding glance. "Madge-"

"Really, I'll be fine." Her gaze is steady and cool.

Gale knows enough not to argue, especially when there are other ways to get Madge to open up. He stands, tugs her gently to her feet and brushes his lips against her soft, pink ones. His hands caress lightly up and down her spine in a gesture meant as much to comfort as to incite goose bumps.

"Come take a bath with me. We'll relax and you can tell me what's really bugging you." It takes half a second for Gale to step out of his kilt and into the warm water. When Madge shakes her head like she still feels too guilty to oblige, he grabs her anyway. Careful to keep the water that sloshes onto the floor to a minimum – housekeeping already has a tough enough job - he holds her wriggling body against his and sinks into the tub.

"Gale! I'm still dressed!"

Gale takes in her taut nipples, framed by the wet scarlet lace. His gaze drops lower, past her stomach, to linger on the matching scrap of now-diaphanous fabric. "You know, Madge, I didn't think it was possible for you to get any sexier." He scoops her hair off her neck and pulls her in for a hard kiss. "And don't even tell me that you think I'm kidding. You're gorgeous. And tonight, you're mine."

Some time later, Madge runs a soapy washcloth across his chest. Gale loves the scrape of the rough, hotel cloth and the pressure of her hands as they trace over him. He groans when she hits a particularly tender spot. "Today was brutal. Are you as sore as I am?" He frowns as Madge's hand pauses almost imperceptibly.

"No, I think I'm fine." She dunks the already sodden cloth into the water. "Katniss looked great, though. That was really wonderful shooting."

Gale's hand darts out to grab hers as his steely gray eyes clash with her stormy violet ones. "Is that what's got you so upset? Katniss?"

Madge drops the cloth and pushes off of him, hoisting herself out of the tub heedless of the water splashing over the edge of the tub.

"Damn it, Madge! Don't run away!" Gale almost trips over the lingerie puddled on the floor, grabs a towel from the rack, and sends a silent apology heavenward for the mess as he chases her into the bedroom. He stops short when he sees the silhouette of her shivering body gazing at the downtown L.A. skyline framed in the window. He can make out her goose bumps in the low light of the bedside lamp. Her hair, just beginning to curl on the ends from dampness, curves against her neck and shoulders and frames her face in gilt. Her beauty is a punch in the gut. He pushes the thought to the side and moves carefully behind her to slide his towel over her shoulders.

"I don't want her." He rubs her arms as much to hold onto her as to warm her up.

Madge snorts in response.

A gentle tug pulls her against him so he can loop his arms around her waist. It isn't lost on him that her spine remains rigid. "I'm serious, Madge. Today was about friendship and showing what she could do."

She tosses her head, sending damp strands whipping across his face. "And you just had to be part of that, didn't you? She could have won that match without you. Blindfolded, I might add, if your never-ending praise for her is even half-true. But you had to make it as much about you as about her." She whirls around to face him, making him stumble backward. "But it wasn't enough to win, was it?" She points a manicured finger at his chest. "You needed to be right there in the middle of it. Today wasn't about her. It was about you. She was just a means to an end. It might as well have been you holding the bow. You _wanted_ it to be you holding that bow."

Gale's voice shakes. "Is that what you think? That my ego is so huge that I would use one of my oldest friends like that? Yes, I like to come out on top." He gestures angrily to the hairbrush and paddle that lay where she discarded them on the table next to the bed. "Given the games you like to play, I thought we had that in common."

The whip of her hand through the air meets the solidity of his palm instead of his face. Their eyes collide. "Get out."

"No. Because I'm serious - I don't know what's behind this, but I don't want her, and I'm not leaving here until you understand that." Madge actually struggles with him for a minute before the fight leaves her in a rush and she puts her head into the damp crook of his neck. He can feel her pants as they dissolve into something deeper. Something like sobs.

Her voice hitches. "I'll never be that for you. Daphne to your Apollo—"

"I hope not. Weren't they brother and sister?"

She pinches him on the arm. "That's Diana and Apollo. Daphne was the love of his life, but she ran from him afraid. Eventually, her father turns her into a tree. What I'm getting at is that Katniss is more than a friend – she's an extension of your arm. The physical manifestation of your intent. Part of you. That's why I couldn't get close to you tonight: I could no more compete with that than cut out a piece of your beating heart."

Gale shakes his head even before she finishes speaking. "Not my heart, Madge. Maybe my head, but never my heart." He frames her naked hips with his hands before sliding them up her spine, gathering her closer and dropping a chaste kiss on her shoulder. "My heart belongs to you and there is no competition for it."

"I don't believe you." She sounds resigned.

That's worse than broken, in Gale's book. Madge would never be broken: never allow her caring for someone to prevent her from going on. But resigned means that she's stopped fighting for him. For them. And he can't bear that loss. He angles her chin so that she meets his eyes. "I've only ever opened myself to you this way. And tonight, I'm going to show you how I can't stop thinking about you: how much you're in my blood; how much you mean to me." He tugs the curtain tie-back free with one hand and loops it over her wrists in a complicated knot. He steps back to survey his handiwork and brings her bound hands up to his mouth so he can drop a kiss on her palm before leading her a few feet to the large, full-length mirror next to the dresser and looping her hands over the top corner.

"Gale, what are you doin—"Her eyes widen in shock, but her pupils give her away. She's not frightened, no. If anything, their burgeoning darkness hints at a secret craving for just this. They're more alike than he ever suspected.

"I like to serve you, Madge." His voice is husky. He drops a kiss on her nape, moving her hair out of the way. "Maybe, if you watch, you'll understand how much." He takes his time tracing the length of her spine with his tongue, pausing to linger at her waist, scraping his teeth across her hip. "I want you to understand what it's like for me when I have your undivided attention." He thinks he hears a whimper when he digs his fingers into her hip bones for a moment before sliding his hands between her legs and pushing them apart authoritatively.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Princess." Gale slipped his long, lean body under her, facing away from the mirror. "Your pleasure is my pleasure. Remember that."

-o-

Madge registers that Gale's head is at the perfect height for what she's sure he intends. She clenches for it, drawing her hips forward ever so slightly toward the mirror and his reflection. After all, she's exposed to his gaze and primed for it. But that's not what he does first. She gasps as his strong hands knead her calves, first one and then the other. She groans softly when he takes his time rubbing his thumbs into a knotted muscle. The more he touches her, the more heavily she leans on her arms and the silken cord that binds her wrists. By the time he massages her thighs, she feels like Jell-O.

It's when her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back in enjoyment that she feels him shift suddenly. There's no time to gasp or moan before his lips and tongue are on her, thumbs spreading her apart so his entire mouth is engaged. This isn't like when they've had oral sex before: not that Gale is about tentative licks or anything like that. But he's certainly not _feasted_ on her quite like this. If the leg massage left her more relaxed than aroused, his tongue swiping across her quickly overtakes her. She has no choice but to lose herself in him.

The thought is liberating.

The knobby thickness of Gale's thumb as he slides it inside her is maddening. It's not deep enough to give her what she wants, especially when Gale draws his head away slightly every time she moves her hips toward him. Like he wants to torment her.

"Gale…" she half-commands, half-whines, glaring at his reflection.

He pulls his mouth off of her long enough to say, "Call me Kitten." Then he's on her again like a starving man and she's his last meal.

A shudder goes through her at his determination and her own vulnerability. "Kit-kitten, I want you inside me."

"No. Not yet." He replaces his thumb with a long finger and the slow penetration has her trembling. He takes two or three long strokes, the kind he knows she likes. "And, Princess, no coming, either."

She knows what he's doing – she uses the technique on him all the time. He says it just makes it all the more intense to know that he shouldn't finish. And now that the tables are turned, it's absolutely true that she's gone from the possibility of orgasm to teetering right on the brink at those words. She's so close. It makes her do something she never thought possible.

"Please, Kitten. Please," she begs.

Gale withdraws from her completely, stands behind her, and meets her eyes in the mirror while he strokes her soft skin. Periodically, his hands dip lower and tease her just enough to keep her legs wobbly. She knows he's hard, can feel him brushing against her and she just can't understand why he's withholding what they both need. She arches into him. He runs a hand around her front – she hopes to steady her while he takes the hint – but all he does is skim up to her breast. His callouses abrade her already sensitive skin.

She's sure she's got him, especially when he reaches above her head, pulls her bindings free of the top edge of the mirror, and rocks her against him. They're exactly aligned. One twist of his hips and he'll be embedded dee—

The sting of the first smack takes her by surprise.

The second leaves her breathless and clenching at nothing, vibrating with need.

The third has more bite than the others, the way eating too many cinnamon bears leaves her mouth overly warm and tingly until she drinks something to cool it off.

By the fourth, she's arching into him in a totally different way. She welcomes the sting. She needs it.

He takes a moment to rub his left hand in circles where her skin burns. It's cool and soothing. "Do you know why I'm spanking you, Princess?"

Madge shakes her head. Honestly, she can barely remember her name.

"You don't beg, not ever, not even with me. You're better than that." His finger takes a detour between her legs where he toys just inside her. "You want me here?"

"Yes!" She flips her hair over her shoulder. It's practically a moan. If her hands were untied, she would scratch at his thighs and scrape at his skin until his he had no choice but to give in. As it is, she just wants something to grab onto or bite.

Gale rolls a desk chair over in front of the mirror and takes a seat before tugging her hips closer. When he meets her eyes in the mirror and gives a little nod while rubbing himself along her sensitive flesh, she knows he's going to give in. A minute later, he's exactly where she wants him. It's so, so good that she has to take shallow breathes to keep herself from letting go right.

"Easy, Princess." He's as out of breath as she is. He moves her legs so they're draped over the arms of the chair and grips the silken cord around her wrists in his left hand. He coaxes, "Open your eyes."

Her inner muscles contract around him as she takes in the sight of their joined bodies visible in the mirror. She's spread so wide that there's nothing left to the imagination. It's like watching a porn where the actress looks like her, only she can feel him move inside her. And he does. He's hunching his hips subtly and it gives him exactly the right angle to make her want to scream.

"Remember, Princess. No coming." Gale moves their tangled hands up to her breasts to hold her in place as his other moves to touch her. It's wet and intense. Hard. Insistent. Like the chair arms that hold her open to him and dig into the backs of her thighs. The heat and tingling of his touch meld together with the burning of her skin from the spanking until she can't tell them apart. Her vision narrows to his hand as it strokes her from her center to where he's buried. She wants to burrow into him. Grind until they are both shimmering powder and there's nothing left of either of them. She's so exposed she can't even breathe except in shallow gasps.

She thinks she says his name.

His lips murmur in her ear "Shhh, Princess. Not yet."

Is he grinding his teeth? She can't be sure that he's as close as she is. But the way his fingers are circling and rubbing, and the feel of his hips straining slightly under her sore butt give her a hint that he is. That, and his flush that's plainly visible in the mirror.

"Do you see that? There's only us. Feel us together. Do you understand how you make me feel now?"

Madge fights watching. It's too intense to see what his hands are doing to her while his eyes burn into her. She's afraid she'll burn him back, the way her body burns everywhere they touch. Her bound hands clench his like a lifeline as she swears burning embers flicker behind her eyelids. Her breath comes in stuttering huffs.

"There has only ever been us, Madge. We are unbreakable." He drops a kiss on her sweat-dampened forehead and whispers, "Now."

And then he's moving and she's moving and someone is sobbing. Everything comes at her in a golden rush as they burn together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bear of a chapter. It was so important for me to handle the subject matter tastefully and with accuracy, so I did a bunch of research. I'll admit most of it didn't make it into the final product, but I will be posting some of my resources to this story's Tumblr page (Johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com) if anyone is interested. I will post one link here as I found it interesting and useful. Take out the "dots" and replace them: www dot rosecoloredasses dot com / sirreal / bdsmscience dot htm
> 
> As always, mistakes in the subject matter are mine and mine alone. No disrespect is intended in my portrayal of this material.


	39. Stronger

Once I put everyone on various planes bound for back east, I bust my ass to get an internship at Tyrell. It doesn't even bother me that Angus must have put in a word for me. I'm just glad that, when I call their H.R. department to get information on what I need to do to apply, I'm routed to someone who actually knows who I am. It's a done deal a week later. I text Angus before anyone else – even Brue - as soon as I hear my start date. I figure it's only fitting that the Lion should know I followed through on what he started during the Games.

Life falls into a routine after that: I work like a dog from seemingly dawn to dusk. Seriously. Tyrell has me stretching myself in ways I didn't expect. I mean, they monitor everything. It's _Nineteen-Eighty-Four_ -meets- _Fringe_ here. Who knew that my colorful and hilarious mental commentary was something I muttered to myself? And that it wouldn't be appreciated by whoever reviews video and audio footage from my lab? The work itself is intense and exacting. Rather, it is for the people actually doing it. _My_ job is to make _their_ jobs easier. I answer emails. I keep schedules. I file paperwork. I make caffeine magically appear at desks. And I learn to keep my mouth shut, listen, and watch. I hone my instincts for working with people who have zero people skills and even less desire to interact than most 'SC engineering students.

No wonder I mutter to myself. Right?

I'm so mentally exhausted at the end of every day that the nightmares stay away. I take that as a good sign, so I work myself into oblivion – taking on any project that gets thrown my way, staying late whenever possible, and being just this side of a kiss-ass to anyone and everyone.

I meet with Dr. Aurelius a couple of times a month, too. It's mostly because I feel myself getting off-track despite the lack of nightmares. He seems quietly pleased with my progress: I no longer feel the need to starve myself. It's not that I'm binging or anything - Tyrell's cafeteria may be free, but the food's not nearly good enough for that – but maybe I'm just too tired to care. Either way, my running is down, my eating is up, and my sleep is sound.

I help Annie around the house when I can. Finn and I barely see each other – I get home just as he's going out at least half of the time. Brue and I try to include Annie and Sam in anything we do as a result, but I think she feels like a third wheel because she mostly declines. She doesn't seem depressed, though. If anything, she seems…hopeful.

I catch her leaving little love notes for Finn in strange places: on left-overs that she leaves in the fridge so he can have something to eat when he finally comes home, on his keys or wallet, inside his sneakers, and even once on the toilet tank. Sometimes they say _I love you_. Most of the time, though, they have phrases written on them that mean nothing to me. _You braided flowers into my hair_. _I just want to know you. Slow dances at 3 am with baby hiccups. Bad prawns. Cold lips_ _on a warm night._ I can't make heads or tails of any of them.

Living with the two of them is weird. Like being in in the middle of a thousand private jokes with no punchlines. I have no idea how Finn reacts to them, which just makes me worry that she might be losing her mind. He's mostly quiet on days when we do see each other. Like he's just drifting through, getting his business done. Sometimes I see his eyes wander to Annie and they seem so sad. Other times it's like he doesn't even know she's in the same apartment. Sam brings them together, though. And the times when they truly connect as a family contain so much joy that I have to look away.

Luckily, Brue's there on the rare times I need to escape from their group-hugs.

Okay, that's an exaggeration. We're don't see each other a ton – our jobs keep us too busy for that – but we make time for each other every week. He takes me to the Whisky to see a band that his dad's thinking of working with. I take him to my favorite roach coach for chimichangas made with fresh, roasted chile peppers, some sort of shredded mystery meat, enough cheese so people three blocks away who are lactose intolerant have a reaction, all served at the temperature of a Starbucks. Or a supernova. We go to a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, visit the John Wayne Museum, and even have dinner at IKEA. Who knew that those little meatballs could be romantic?

That's about as close as I get to any balls, unfortunately. It's amazing how I can be the only girl who still can't get laid even though her boyfriend is in the same county. I spend a lot of quality time with my friends Ben and Jerry, lamenting how Katniss is at the bakery, probably up to her eyeballs in spurting cream filling, while Madge is most likely commissioning a pair of custom made spurs so she can ride Gale off into the sunset.

Now I ask you, how is that fair? I want to save a horse and ride a cowboy, too.

So when Brue texts that his dad is out of country to meet Shakira, I jump at the chance to get _Closer_ to him. And yes, I mean the Nine Inch Nails song. We make plans to check out the latest Transformers movie and hang out at his place. The entire time, I silently scheme on how to subjugate his Megatron, if you get my drift.

We get to the theater and grab snacks. I buy my own water and popcorn and tell him I'm not sharing, then proceed to put enough of that disgustingly horrible fake butter on it that I can feel my arteries clogging just from holding the container. Brue laughs and grabs nachos with plenty of cheese and a Cherry Freeze. He looks longingly at the little tubs that have pickled jalapeños in them before giving them the cold shoulder.

"Go ahead if you want them." I shrug. I know the guy likes spicy food, so why would he deprive himself?

"I'll pass this time." When I look at him as if he's crazy, he leans in a little closer and his voice drops so that I can feel the vibration all the way to my panties. "I have big plans for later. We can't have jalapeño juice getting on my hands and messing them up."

We compromise on Sour Patch Kids to share, find seats, and settle in for two hours and thirty-seven minutes of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. How can we go wrong with Michael Bay  _plus_ Mark Wahlberg? Don't judge. Sometimes I like movies like I like sex: full of hot guys with fine asses and a lot of mindless explosions.

I can tell the exact moment when Brue goes from being into the movie to being into me. We're about an hour in and I'm munching on popcorn and Sour Patch Kids. He's eating his nachos - making a big show of licking the extra cheese off of the edge of each chip and his fingers. Watching his tongue scrape along the salty morsels is so erotic that I actually think about how hot it would be to watch him go down on another guy. And when he takes a deep drink from the red straw poking out of his Freeze cup, I think I hear actual popping as my brain cells explode. My mouth drops open.

It must seem like an invitation, because in two seconds he's got his lips against mine in all their salty glory. I smother something between a gasp and a laugh at his cold tongue and he groans a little at the buttery sourness of my mouth. It doesn't stop him from leaning into the kiss, though. By the time we pull apart, we're both breathless, his eyes are twinkling, and Optimus Prick has begun to transform.

He eats the rest of his nachos one-handed while the other remains steady on my inner thigh. I can't stop smiling because I'm thrilled that we're both on the same page. The next ninety minutes pass as I idly wonder if nacho cheese sauce can double as lube; that's how flustered those long, lean fingers and extra-red tongue have me.

I can barely believe it when he pulls me out before the credits are through. I tell him I have to hit the restroom, but he doesn't let the rain-delay phase him. By the time I join him in the hallway, he's thrown away our trash and is sucking down the last of his Cherry Freeze.

"Ready to get out of here?" I ask. I'm dying to get him into the car so I can finish what we started.

He doesn't answer - just gestures for me to take the lead. Which is why I almost screech when he grabs me by the waist and guides me through an unmarked door that I hadn't even noticed. I glare at him as he backs me up against it faster than you can say, "Bumblebee's got a hard on." And let me tell you, that Bumblebee's packing some serious torque.

"What are you doing?" I whisper urgently. I have no freaking idea where we are and it's not like Brue to pull me into a dark corner.

His hand tangles in my ponytail so he can keep me still while he leans down to trace my lower lip with his very cold tongue. It makes me shiver a little, that light touch, especially when his other hand skims under my shirt to stroke bare skin. "We're in the stairs to the projection booth." He punctuates the last two words with lingering kisses along my throat. "Is that alright?"

I suppose it's fair, because I've had my hands underneath his polo shirt since we started kissing. His skin is soft for a guy who spends a lot of time in the sun and he's lean enough that I can feel his obliques move every time he shifts. It makes me want to bite into them. Hard. I've got to get him naked, like, now. Especially when his long, talented fingers are already undoing the tiny buttons on the front of my blouse. The front clasp of my bra melts away and his cool fingers pluck at me in a way he knows I love. I take this all to mean that Brue's decided that he can't wait to get me home, either.

"Do you have any Sour Patch Kids left? I want to try something."

I barely register his question because I'm so focused on the feel of his skin under my palms and what his hands are doing to me. I streak his shirt up his chest so I can trace his six-pack with my tongue while I fumble with the button of his jeans. It's the tone of his voice that finally breaks through to me – heated and low, it's the voice he only uses during sex – and it works better than a bell did on Pavlov's dogs. My mouth goes dry.

I swallow. "They're in my pocket, but they're almost all go-" I squeal when he reaches into my front pocket and pulls out the near-empty bag, but he absorbs most of it by sealing his lips over mine.

When he breaks the kiss, he exhales with a breathy laugh. "Shhhh." His eyes glint with laughter and something else, something _indulgent_ , when he says, "Now hold still and try to be quiet." He peels the cotton away from my skin, leans down, and take a leisurely lick around my nipple. His mouth is warm and wet as he does it again and again, moving his hand to support me from underneath while he treats me like an ice cream cone.

By the time he lifts his head, I'm soft-serve. "Now, let's see how this feels."

I'm too boneless to ask what _this_ is, so I just wait while he sprinkles a little bit of the coarse sugar from the bottom of the candy bag. It sticks immediately to my cool, wet skin, making it a little tingly. His eyes caress me as one finger traces the very edge of my aureole like a margarita rim. I must make a sound in the back of my throat because he sends me one last almost-stern look before he whispers, "Quiet," and lowers his dark head.

Brue likes my breasts: he always has. But this? This takes it to a whole new level. He's not just licking and nuzzling, no. He's sucking insistently with a hot, damp mouth hard enough that I swear I feel the tug all the way to my core. I throb. He catches a nipple between his tongue and teeth, swiping at it and swirling the sharp grains of sugar all over me. The abrasion, coupled with that insidious sucking, pulses through me. It hurts in the best possible way and I'm glad he has one hand wrapped around me, or I'm sure I'd be a puddle on the carpet. I barely notice when he tugs me toward the stairs, sugar flying around us like fairy dust, and takes a seat. In a flash, his mouth is back on my skin, fingers making short work of the rest of the tiny buttons down my blouse. The feel of him, the novelty of him doing this in such a strange place so overwhelms me that I don't even know what to do with my hands. One finds his curls, one hangs onto his shoulder for dear life.

He breaks for air but doesn't take his eyes off his fingers as they stroke my slick skin. "I love it when you're rosy like this. Like a lollipop or a cherry." He drops his head again and his teeth nip at me, a flash of white in the semi-darkness.

I can't take it anymore. I need friction. I need something inside me. I need _him._ I push him down onto the steps and bring my lips so close to his that I can feel his breath and smell the cherry that lingers there. But we don't kiss, oh no. I stare into his eyes, my breath very loud between us as I fumble for the zipper of his jeans. The downward slide sounds like a ratchet in the small space. I stroke my hand through his happy trail and lower, making him wriggle so I can get enough leverage to ease his pants off his hips. When my hands glide over his taut, heated skin to do some stroking of my own, he grabs at my wrists.

"What!?" I'm exasperated: he started this. I'm just calling his bluff.

He squeezes once, hard, and then moves his elbows behind him to brace himself. He's as exposed as he can be in such a public place. He smirks, dimples flashing. "Ms. Mason, I'm going to rock your world."

A fresh jolt of heat rolls through me like thunder and I stare at him in shock. I think that's Brue giving me permission to violate him in a semi-public stairwell, surrounded by the smell of fake butter, ground-up M&M's, and flattened Sour Patch Kids. I cock an eyebrow as I hike up my skirt, slide my panties off, and straddle him. In record time, I've got him sheathed in a condom. And when he angles my hips with sure, capable hands and slides inside me, I know the truth: he already does.

-o-

I can't stop smiling as we race to the car. I mean, it's not every day that Brue MacLeod pulls me into some dark corner so we can get busy. As a matter of fact, he's never initiated something like this. Not once. I'm so giddy that my cheeks hurt.

"Mason, are you already thinking of round two?" He grabs me around the waist and pins me up against the passenger door.

"I wasn't. But if you keep kissing my neck like that, I predict we won't even get out of this parking lot."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" He nibbles across my jaw as he unlocks the door and ushers me into my seat. "Tonight, I want you all to myself. _In_ _a bed_."

I wait until he's got the car started before I angle myself toward him. "Did you mean _all_ night?" I barely wait for his amused nod before I start toying with his zipper.

He leans over the center console to give me a hard kiss. "Have I told you how glad I am that you stayed in L.A.?"

We don't peel out of the parking lot, but I think he wants to. He covers my hand where it cups him and strokes my fingers. It's the sexiest fucking thing, him playing with my fingers while I touch him through his jeans. Is that because of the appetizer we had at the movies? I have no idea. I just know that there's no place I'd rather be than right next to him.

A commercial comes on the radio and he flips channels until he finds music again. We were so distracted at the theater that neither of us thought to plug in our phones, so we're going old school. Neither of us want to listen to some chatterbox DJ, though.

I'm laughing at his impersonation of Kanye West, who he's actually _met_ , when a song comes on the radio that I barely recognize. Its familiar hook tickles just at the edge of my consciousness. Where have I heard it before?

Brue changes it quickly. "Sorry about that."

"No, go back for a second. I swear, it's familiar…" I ignore the set of his jaw and move to adjust the tuner myself. I almost laugh out loud when I finally get it back to the station only to realize that it's Brue singing. Sure, it's some weird sort of dance re-mix that sounds like Zedd dry humping the Jonas Brothers, but it's still recognizable. Brue suddenly seems pretty intent on listening, and not in a good way; his jaw is clenched and he actually makes a fist in his lap, like he's really pissed. His body language stifles the joke on the tip of my tongue and sends little prickles down the back of my neck. As if that's not enough to send the message that something bad is going down, he pulls over to the curb with a screech of tires.

"Jo-" I swear he's trembling a little.

I ignore him, though, as the chorus comes on. Because that's not just Brue.

That's Katniss Fucking Everdeen.

I'm out of the car like a shot, cursing at my seatbelt when it won't unlatch fast enough. I can't see. I can barely breathe. Did they do this behind my back on purpose? Were they laughing at me this whole time? When he reaches for me, I pull away and whirl on him. "Don't touch me! Who the fuck do you think you are? Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift? You're my friends. And you didn't think you could tell me about releasing a single that I might hear on the radio one day?"

"Jo, I didn't know, I swear."

I stare at him in disbelief. "You didn't know? How is that possible?"

He runs a hand through his hair, color still high on his cheeks. "I recorded that the night we were all in the studio. You were there, remember? And Katniss and I were just messing around. I don't know how it got out. It's not even the song I submitted for my project."

"What a second. Are you telling me that someone got a hold of your recording and released it somehow? Is that even possible outside a Disney Channel movie?"

"Yes. Because I'm telling you that it's the God's honest truth."

I'm so proud of myself for hanging on to my rationality. "How would that happen? Let's imagine for a second that I believe this is your one-armed-man moment, and not you being Bieber. You don't just will a single to happen, unless you're Beyonce. So, if you didn't do it, who did?"

I know the exact second when he and I both pinpoint someone who would have means and motive to take Brue from a one-hit wonder to something more. His dad.

Brue's jaw clenches so tightly that I can see the muscle in his jaw jump with tension when I reach out to him. "Brue-"

"Don't, Jo. I don't need your pity." He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. "I never figured him for this big a bastard."

I chew the inside of my lip for a second. Do I believe him? His blue eyes are full of pain and fury, his hands clenching and unclenching. If he's pretending not to know about it, he's doing a pretty convincing job. How could his dad do that without even telling him? Seriously, the guy is a grade A bastard. Suddenly a realization hits me out of the blue and trumps everything I see in front of me to settle in my gut with a dull thud. "Does Katniss know?"

His eyes widen. He obviously hasn't put it together that there are two victims in this scenario.

An unreasonable fury rips through me. Even though I know it's not fair to direct it at him, I can't help it. "Would your dad have told her that her voice is playing on airwaves across the country? Maybe he got some sort of clearance to use her voice?"

He closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders as he slides his hands into his pockets. "I don't know."

My reaction is immediate: I want to kick his dad in the 'nads until he's pleading for mercy, but I can't because he's meeting Shakira. Untouchable, as always. Instead, I stride toward Brue who looks so frustrated and miserable that he doesn't stop me when I poke a finger into his chest. "Fucking fix this."

"You don't just pull something from the media outlets, Jo-"

"Don't you dare lecture me. You and Katniss recorded something that was _private_. Somehow, that got leaked. Do you have any idea how much she's going to freak out if she hears this? We – she—trusted you, and this is how you repay her? So figure out a way to back out of this without hurting her, or I swear-" My mouth opens and closes but no words come out. I don't know what I swear, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it will hurt Brue more than the tearing pain inside me that feels like a gaping chasm.

Brue's jaw clenches. "I'll figure something out."

"You'd better." I glare at him and rub the bridge of my nose to try to quell my blooming headache. "Now take me home."

-o—

Annie doesn't say a word when I walk in the door before midnight. I'm glad, because my head is pounding and my heart hurts. A week later, and the headache is finally gone.

But not the heartache.

Brue texts me. Every time he does, I ask one question: _Did you tell her yet?_

His answer is always the same: _Not yet._ He tells me that he's figuring out a way to word it, or that he's looking for how it happened. One day he tells me that he's contacted a lawyer. Another, he tells me that he's confronted his dad with everything he's found.

I don't care.

Okay, that's not true. I _do_ care: I care about how he's feeling about everything that's happening. My heart positively aches the day he tells me about the confrontation, really. But all of that takes a back seat to the fact that I dread his texts. Dread. It's a word I've never really attributed to Brue. But can't avoid any longer the fact that he hasn't done the one thing he said he'd do. _He promised._ He hasn't told Katniss.

I stop answering his texts or picking up his calls. I dodge emails. Horrible thoughts invade my idle time - I wonder how much of our relationship was about me versus getting close to our friends. Was I convenient? A way to round out the numbers while everyone else paired up? I know his dad is a horrible person who used his son: he's done it before, which makes him doubly-douche-y. But I can't help calculating how likely it was that Brue lured Katniss into that session and took advantage of her so that he could beat his dad at his own game. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to talk to her: he feels guilty. Could Brue have decided it was a good enough song that he could get a number one out of if he released it independently, and screw her? Screw us? What did he have to lose, really?

I'm just collateral damage.

After another week of these games – and without the right answer – I'm at my limit. Brue texts me and I text back. When the answer comes, it doesn't surprise me. _I'm sure she's heard it by now, it's in the top ten._

Good for him. I hope that it goes all the way to number one, because I know for certain I won't be listening to the radio any time soon. I'm furious. I'm hurt. And I can't believe he didn't follow through on this for me. My heart throbs like it's gotten too big for my chest when I text him one line. _We're done._

And then I pick up the phone and call Katniss myself before shutting off my phone for good.

A numbing fog covers me most days. I'm grateful for it – I get through all of the motions of each day: rise, run, work, eat, run, pass out. Lather, rinse repeat.

Annie stays out of my way and asks no questions. She does, however, keep a steady supply of chocolate in the cupboards. And if she notices that I pound through an entire canister of icing with chocolate chips and peanut butter mixed in, she doesn't say a word. So I'm surprised the next morning when she's waiting for me in the kitchen after I wake up so late that I have to forego my run. That's okay though, because I feel like crap and all I want is a heating pad and a chick-flick. Did I mention she's holding a smoothie the color of kale?

"Drink this: it will help with your hangover." Annie assesses me.

I'm confused as well as miserable. "I didn't get drunk last night. And there's no way I'm drinking anything that color. I won't even ask what the hell it is."

She holds up the empty frosting tub that she must have fished out of the trash. "Drink it. I can't even imagine how you're upright right now. And I promise it will make you feel better."

She's got a certain "mommy" look that means business: arms crossed, foot tapping, eyes filled with steely determination. I'm not going to get out of the kitchen without at least trying the toxic sludge. So I take it and hold my nose while I down half of it. It's actually palatable – maybe I'm just starved for vitamins or something, but it tastes fresh and green – except for the sort of slimy residue it leaves behind. And I'll get rid of that when I brush my teeth. With a shrug, I shoot the other half and hand her back the glass with an exaggerated shudder.

I feel more human by the second. If only Annie had another special elixir to fix a broken heart.

"See?" She looks smug as she rinses the kale funk off the glass in the sink. "It's like magic."

"Thanks." I feel good enough that taking a shower doesn't make me want to weep the way it did a few minutes ago, so I turn to head for the bathroom.

Annie's voice follows me. "You don't have to talk about it, Jo, but you should probably turn your phone on. Peeta said he's been texting and calling for a few days now."

I snort. "Why would Peeta text me? Unless he's going to tell me all about how he gave Everdeen the Aunt Jemima treatment in the back room of the bakery." I wonder for a second if he's been texting me because he's heard from Brue. Or maybe they've actually heard the single themselves and he just wants to bitch. Whatever. I'm so lost in my own ramblings that I barely hear Annie.

"Jo, did you hear me? Peeta needs a ride from the airport tomorrow." She stares at me until she sees recognition dawn. "Peeta's coming back to L.A."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I said it was bit of a wild ride, didn't I? Just… trust me. Also, many thanks to all of you who are still reading this. Tumblr followers gave me the idea of the projection booth, so kudos to them. 'Fremus, you dared me to work in a specific word. I think I did a pretty good job with it, all things considered.


	40. Dark Days

"Brainless, you look like crap." I hug Peeta. I'm sure I didn't have to tell him he looks like an escapee from an Ayn Rand book, but he does: his eyes are bloodshot, there are dark circles under them, and his skin is so pale he could be a poster child for Vitamin D deficiency. He's no longer a golden retriever. He's more like an albino basset hound in a Sarah McLachlan video.

His wry smile tells me he knows exactly how he looks as we walk to baggage claim to grab his duffle. "Thanks, Jo." As he makes a grab for the brown canvas bag, his hoodie sleeve rides up to expose a large red scratch that runs the entire length of his forearm and disappears beneath the fabric.

I motion to where he's tugged the sleeve back down to his wrist. "Seriously, what did your Mom do, watch _Flowers in the Attic_ and take it as a tutorial? Or have you just been stuck listening to Bieber on repeat the whole summer?" I pause for a moment, because there's one other thing that could have brought him back early. "You and Katniss didn't have a fight or anything, did you?"

He flips his shoulders so the bag lands solidly on his back like it weighs nothing before giving me a dirty look that I take as a no. He's not answering my bigger question, though: why the fuck is he back in L.A.?

I nervously mention the whole Brue/Katniss thing while we're parking under Finn's building. "So, uh, how mad is Katniss?"

"What?" Peeta jolts out of whatever mental place he disappeared into. When I repeat myself, he shakes his head. "She's not really that mad."

"You're kidding." Yeah. Not buying it. The girl freaks out if you move one of her pencils, especially the ones with little ducks on them that Prim gave her. And Brue MacLeod didn't just move something…he stole her voice as surely as if his name was Ursula.

"Nah, I mean it. She wanted to shoot Brue's dad at first. But after she talked to him, she calmed down."

"She _talked_ to Brue's dad?"

"No, sorry." He shoots me a sheepish look. "I meant that she talked to Brue."

 _Wait._ "When?" I'm sure I sound like a lunatic, but I have to know. "When did they talk?"

He shrugs, unfastening his seatbelt and reaching into the back for his bag. "Maybe a couple of days after you told her."

I breathe deeply, all the tension draining out of my body even though my heart pounds uncomfortably. _Of course it was after._ I hadn't realized I was hoping for a miracle – hoping that Brue had somehow talked to Katniss before I did and had just not told me because of embarrassment. Or some sort of spacetime wormhole. Or because of his horoscope, not that he believes in that. Really, I would take almost any excuse for him having done the right thing and not telling me.

"Jo, you coming up?" Peeta's looks quizzically me, frozen in the front seat like a statue.

A very _disappointed_ statue.

I nod.

-o-

"Man, I've missed you guys. And look at the little man, here! I swear he gets bigger every time I leave the house." Peeta throws Sam in the air and then kisses his forehead. He's said and done the same thing every day since he got back a week ago.

Annie laughs along with Sam's delighted giggles. The three of us dance around the kitchen as Peeta makes dinner. For a second, my dad and step-mom's shadows cross my heart and give me the shivers before I focus on my friends. Besides, Peeta's making something that smells so good that any and all sad thoughts are banished from the premises.

"How was brewing today, Peet?" I grab a slice of jicama that he's cut for us to nosh on. I'm careful that he doesn't chop a finger off: what would the geeks at Tyrell do without me to stir their coffee for them?

He nods in time to Derek and the Dominos. "Good. Really good. It feels nice to get back into it." He turns to Annie. "I brought some beer home. I know you don't drink it, but I figured I have to do something to thank you guys for letting me stay here."

Peeta crosses paths with Finn way more than I do since his schedule is so much more flexible and I idly wonder how that's going. Everyone seems to have fallen into a nice and easy routine since Peeta's return: I work, Annie and Finn take care of Sam, and Peeta hangs out with them, or brews beer while listening to the blues. Muddy Waters, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Buddy Guy, Clapton, and B.B. King become staples in our weird little household before long. They're our soundtrack, especially at night when I come home and Peeta's head is bent close to Annie's, talking about God-knows-what before they catch sight of me.

Now, I like a lot of music, but I just can't get into the blues. I personally don't see the attraction for him, either, until Peeta tells me that the blues is nothing but a good man feeling bad. That's about as much as he says, to me at least, about whatever it is that made him run from the East Coast. I have to believe that he has confided in Annie. Because _something_ clears the haunted look in his eyes until it's nothing but a faint shadow. Sure, I still hear him thrashing around in the middle of the night sometimes, it's hard not to, when everyone else is asleep and I'm doing nothing but staring at a spot on the wall with burning eyes so that I don't have to close my eyes and picture Brue's face.

To our utter delight, it didn't take long for Peeta to decide that Eggo waffles and tater tots were not ingredients in healthy meals, and to announce that he was going to save us from eating any more worthless meals. In other words, I am no longer allowed to cook. Given the fact that he's basically our live-in chef, and that Finn's floor isn't that comfortable a bed, I can't imagine what he would need to thank Finn for.

"Oh, Peeta, you know it's no trouble. You're doing so much for us in return."

Peeta shoots me a dirty look before turning to Annie. "Saving you from Jo's cooking is the very least I can do. I don't want Sam here thinking that nacho cheese sauce is a valid ingredient. Nor are Hostess fruit pies." I'm about to call him on his uber-judgementalism – Hostess lemon fruit pies are the food of the gods, despite the fact that they list "beef fat" as an ingredient – when I realize that he's holding a small yellow Post-it in Annie's direction with a raised eyebrow. "In the fridge, Annie?"

She doesn't even flush. "Sometimes Finn likes a snack when he gets home."

"I doubt he's macking on raw spinach."

She giggles a little and takes the piece of paper before coming into the breakfast nook and putting Sam in his high chair. "Probably not."

"What _are_ those things?" I've been meaning to ask her for the entire summer, but the time has just never been right.

Annie ruffles her son's hair as he thumps his fists on the tray. "They're memories: Finn gave them to me. Now I'm giving them back." She carefully spoons some freshly-pureed vegetables into Sam's smiling face, patiently wiping off his mouth as he drools.

"I'm not following you," I say, grabbing the bowl of mango pieces Peeta's just cut up for Sam. They're going to make a mess, but that's Sam's job, right?

She distractedly smiles her thanks before gathering her thoughts. "I don't know that I can really explain beyond the fact that I'm showing him happy pieces of our history. I hope they remind him that we're in this together. That I remember that he's a good father and a good partner when he wants to be. That we share things that make us special. I don't think Finn believes that all that often, Jo. I don't think he thinks he's special or worth anything. And I'm trying to remind him that he is."

"Is it working?" Peeta's attention is arrested by Annie's glow as she talks about Finn. "Is it bringing you closer?"

Annie's wry smile is a little sad. "I can only show him, Peeta. The rest is up to him."

I look from one of them to the other, impressed by the effort that each put into their relationships. I've seen Annie's first-hand. And Peeta talks to Katniss or texts her every day. He's even written her a letter a day longhand, which is probably appealing to the girl who still does her homework in freaking pencil. Maybe this is why they're still in their relationships and I'm alone, miserable, drowning my sorrows in home-brewed beer and contraband fruit pies.

Because. Fruit pies.

"Can one of you come here and taste this?" It's like Peeta reads my thoughts because he's holding a spoon with some sort of red-orange substance on it.

I'm there in a flash, Annie not far behind. Hey, when Peeta asks you to taste something, you answer the call of duty with a smile. I'm not disappointed as the flavor of ripe peaches hugs my tongue before I get the hint of something darker in the finish. Spicier. It entices me to want more rather than relishing the sweetness. If you could bottle soft, slow, doggie-style sex where he's got your ass in one hand while he tickles your G-spot with the tip of his cock, this would be it. "You damn well know it's perfect. What are we having for dessert?"

"Chipotle peach compote over a buttermilk pound cake drizzled with vanilla custard sauce."

Annie's still licking the spoon while my mouth hangs open. Because, seriously, that dessert is nothing but peach porn. This isn't mere fruit compote. It should be called _fruit cumpote_. It's designed to get someone pounded, alright. Too bad Katniss is so far away.

That's how Finn finds us when he walks through the door: huddled around the kitchen like a bunch of co-conspirators, eating bits of our dessert before dinner is even served, and dancing to "It's In the Way That You Use It".Annie's laughing full-out with her head thrown back and her messy ponytail trailing her waist, spinning Sam around, looking like a kaleidoscope in her brightly colored boho skirt and tank top.

Finn's eyes are drawn right to her and a small frown crosses his brow before smoothing into the perfect mask he normally wears. "Can I join the fun?"

We greet him like he's Norm from _Cheers_.

"Finn! You're home early!" Annie grabs him with one hand and twirls him around too. Sam coos and gurgles. Everyone, it seems, is gleeful.

You know, except me.

He smiles with his dazzling-white teeth. "I am. Hope you guys don't mind?" He directs the question over Annie's shoulder as he pulls her in tight for a hug.

Like Peeta and I are going to tell him that he's intruding. Right.

Peeta busies himself with dinner and I head to my room. I'm not more than thirty pages into _Diddled by a Duke_ – which is probably for the best, since the hero reminds me a little bit of Brian - when I get the call that dinner's ready.

"Looks great, Peet." I can't help but compliment the chef. I mean, seriously, the guy's putting together meals that would make angels weep and tonight is no different: chicken with Herbes de Provence and roasted beets on a bed of wilted spinach. And to prevent it from being too healthy, Peeta's got some sort of gloriously simple dinner rolls served alongside that have so much butter brushed on top that the crust practically tastes fried before you hit the impossibly-fluffy interior.

"Peeta, this is worth every second in the gym." Finn closes his eyes as he chews a bite of roll. Sam smacks his high chair tray and gurgles in agreement, his eyes wide just from the smells at the table. We all laugh before Finn places some roll and small pieces of shredded chicken on the boy's plate. "I feel exactly the same way, son."

Peeta's nose crinkles at the compliment before he cuts a small piece of beet and some spinach and puts them aside. I know he's going to give them to Sam when they're cooler. His blue eyes meet Finn's across the table. "Any particular reason you joined us for dinner tonight?"

Finn immediately begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap. It takes him a minute or two to finish chewing. Then he takes a drink of water and clears his throat. All the while, his right hand keeps fucking around with that napkin. "Well, um…I have news."

I carefully place my knife and fork down to prepare myself. After all, everything from marrying Annie to having Sam has been a "news" sort of announcement from Finn. I'm not sure my heart is ready to hear whatever it is he's about to lay on us. And judging from the lack of color in Annie's face, neither is she.

Finn notices her pallor and sends her a dazzling smile as he pats her hand. "It's not bad, sweetie. I was just…uh…thinking that I might take the semester off. You're in school, now, and I could take on more with Sam. I could still model some to pay our bills, and my dad said he'd help-"

I snort. I can't help it. "Your dad wants you to drop out?"

Finn frowns in my direction. "I'm not _dropping out_. It's just one semester." He turns back to Annie. "What do you think?"

Frankly, I'm surprised he's asking. But at least her color is better. She bites her lip before saying slowly, "Would that be easier for you? Taking some time off?"

Finn nods with the enthusiasm of a bobble-head. "We could get ahead of some bills and it would let me take some pressure off of you, baby."

Ugh. I almost throw up in my mouth a little. "Baby" is Finn's go-to word for getting a girl to give him what he wants. And I'm not gonna lie: it irks me that Annie wants to make things easier for him. His whole life has been easy, and I can't help but think that's his entire problem. I want to tell him what utter fucking bullshit this is, especially when Annie glances at me furtively like she expects me to help her out, but Peeta slides a hand over and pinches me on the leg. Hard.

Fucker. I should probably be grateful that it's not a nipple twist of something, especially with his older brothers. So I lean over to throw my elbow into his ribs - accidentally, of course. He takes the moment to whispers, "This is their business. Let them work it out."

I grit my teeth. "Annie needs help."

He shakes his head subtly. You know, like a lab shaking water off, before he announces, "Jo and I are going to go put the finishing touches on dessert."

I mutter, "No we're not." Peeta doesn't give me much choice as he tugs me towards the kitchen.

"Brainless, _what are you trying to do?"_ I wrench my arm away.

Peeta stops in front of the fridge with his hands on his hips before he pulls out the custard sauce and the compote. He motions to the loaf of pound cake on the counter behind me. "Slice that up? Nice, thick slices. Maybe 8 to the loaf?"

I snort and grab the bread knife. I may be angry, but I'm not stupid; if Peeta tells me to do something with dessert, I'm doing it.

Peeta takes his time putting the compote and the custard sauce in the microwave to warm gently. He actually tells the microwave, "gently", which makes me want to laugh out loud until I realize he may have an ulterior motive in mind. The microwave is loud enough that it does a decent job of drowning out both conversations. He's earnest when he turns to me. "Stop trying to protect her. Annie doesn't need it."

I gape. "She doesn't need it? Are you fucking kidding? A year ago she couldn't get out of bed, no thanks to Finn—"

"That was before medication. She's improved a lot since then." He pulls the stuff out of the microwave and stirs each with its own spoon, gently dabbing a little of each on the inside of his wrist to test temperature. Satisfied, he turns back to me. "She and Finn need to work through this together. And treating her like an invalid is not helping."

I bristle. "What? I do _not_ treat her like an _invalid._ "

His patience pisses me off even more. "Yes, you do. You still baby her. It makes her self-conscious and undermines her ability to fight her own battles."

Heat creeps up my cheeks. "Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't have to. You do it to all of us when you think we need help: Katniss and I when we first got together, Annie with Finn and then Sam, Katniss with Brue…you can't save us all, Jo." His voice is dark and heavy, like there's something more behind it, but I don't question it.

I'm too pissed.

"Yeah, Peeta? You think you have it all figured out, right? Well, fuck you. Fuck _me_ for caring, but fuck _you_." I storm out of the kitchen and announce to the room at large, "I'm going for a run."

When I get back, exhausted, sweaty, and somehow still near tears despite my heavy-metal playlist, I find a huge portion of dessert that I take as an olive branch. I eat it…because… _dessert._ And I think my despair actually makes it taste better, if that's possible. The sweet taste of peaches and the spicy afterglow of chipotle-laced-regret mingle on my taste buds as I finish every bite.

The next time I hear Peeta whimpering in his sleep in the next room, I remember how he doesn't need me. I pull the sheet around me tightly and stare at the ceiling, pretending I don't hear. And when those whimpers turn to quiet cries, I slide my ear buds into place and block him out until morning.

-o-

The entire gang comes back right before school starts. I side-eye Katniss a few times to try to get a read on how pissed she is about the Brue thing, but she seems calm. Eerily so. Like, to the point where I check in my closet and under my bed every day. I just don't trust that Katniss is going to take having her voice stolen like Ariel completely in stride. So, in a time-tested Johanna Mason tactic, I avoid her as much as possible. It's not hard: work and school can keep me busy from sun up to midnight if I let them.

The mystery of Katniss's laissez-faire attitude is solved a few weeks into the semester when a very thick manila envelope shows up in our mailbox. It's from the MacLeod's. And it doesn't take a genius to realize that it must be some sort of rebuttal or recompense for being used more than a urinal deodorizer in a men's bathroom at Grand Central station.

I leave it on her desk, hoping she'll mention it. She doesn't though, so I don't bring it up. She's gone for Tuesday night dinner when I get back to the dorm with my sandwich and chips from the Carl's Jr. next to Commons. Now, I love waffle fries and a messy Six Dollar Jalapeno Burger as much as the next girl, but I can't help but get a little misty-eyed at the amazing stuff Peeta's serving up that I'm missing. At least, Katniss's descriptions of them are epic. She's taken menu memorization to a whole new level: her imagery is o graphic that it's like Skinemax decided to air a cooking show called _Culinary Concocktions with Peeta Mellark._

When I get back from the late-night run that's an attempt to purge myself of all the fat I've eaten, Katniss is sitting cross-legged on her bed. Kinda like a spider who's been waiting, patiently, for her quarry.

"Hey. We missed you tonight."

I snort. "Who was there?"

"Gale and Madge, Annie, Brue, Peeta and me – the usual."

I nod. She's mentioned before that Finn must have Sam more because Annie comes to the frat house without him. I idly wonder how that whole "Mr. Mom" thing is working out for him.

"Jo, you don't have to stay away, you know. Especially not on my account."

"It's not because of you." When she cocks her eyebrow in disbelief, I reiterate, "It's not. What happened with Brue and me, it would have happened anyway. He would have made me another promise that he couldn't keep and it would have blown up sooner or later. It's better this way – clean break and all that." I wave my hand dismissively, like the words don't feel like shards of glass when I say them. Like I was ready for it to happen when it did.

Katniss scowls. "Are you sure? Because you guys seemed to be doing well. I think he really cares about you."

"Like you're an expert at knowing when someone cares?" I can't help but poke her. Hard. I have to, or I'll go crazy at the thought that Brue still feels something for me, or that he's talking about it with my friends no less.

She bites back. "I can't be the reason you guys broke up, Jo. I didn't ask for that sort of sacrifice."

"Too bad, because you fucking got it." I grab my shower stuff and slam out of our room. And as the warm water sluices over me, I can't help but think about how similar her words are to Peeta's: I can't save everyone.

-o—

Katniss and I avoid each other more, if that's possible, after our argument. It's not difficult, given how little I'm around because of my school and work schedule. I don't bring it up and neither does Katniss. She must think she owes me something, though, because every Tuesday, there's a set of Ziploc containers from the frat house with my name on them sitting on the desk. I tell Dr. A. that I'll deal with the rift as soon as I get my classes under control, but that turns out to be a lie. My classes are kicking my ass. My internship is kicking my ass. My friendships… yeah. You get the idea.

It's week later, after midterms, and I'm eating Cajun shrimp and grits that have my mouth singing. They're spicy in just the right way, heat tempered by the cheese in the grits so that I get little explosions of flavor amidst sweeter pockets of creamy smoothness. Peeta's made country ham-studded biscuits to go along with it and the salty bites contrast beautifully with the main dish. I'm struck again at how much work it is for Peeta to put all of these dinners together. Hours and hours of work every week, for what? To feed a bunch of folks who barely recognize the food that crosses our lips. Oh, sure, Katniss probably still memorizes every meal like she's putting it in some sort of culinary time capsule. But the rest of us? We've never wanted for food a day in our lives. Talk about saving people who neither need nor want to be saved… doesn't he do the same thing each and every week?

I wonder if I should bring that up to him. Maybe he can talk to Dr. A. about it, instead of lecturing me about how fucked up my life is. Something tickles at me for a second as I take another bite of flaky, salty, chewy goodness. That's when it clicks: Peeta's appointments have always been before mine on Tuesdays. Always. Since that one day…you know. When was the last time I saw him on my way into the Health Center? And come to think of it, when was the last time I bumped into him in the Engineering quad? It's not like we've ever really been in each other's pockets. We really only saw each other a couple of times a week outside of the frat. But this year, Peeta sightings have been sparse.

Weird.

When I mention it to Katniss in passing, fully expecting her to call me a paranoid, asshole with stalker tendencies, I'm shocked when she smooths her hair like she's nervous and tells me that he's been really busy lately.

"Too busy for school? For Dr. A. and his mental health?" Coming from the girl who practically single-handedly got me to see Dr. A., that's rich. She doesn't answer, so I keep drilling. "Come on, Katniss. What's going on with him? Where the fuck are his priorities? I would have thought you guys would understand the import-"

"I don't know! I don't know where he's been, Jo! Alright?" Her voice drops and she looks away, like she can't bear to meet my eyes. "He's been avoiding me."

" _What?_ For how long?"

She twirls a pencil between two fingers and gives a little shrug. "A couple of weeks. He started being weird around midterms, but I figured _it was midterms_ and it would pass. But it's gotten worse."

"Worse?"

"Haven't you noticed that I've been here more? He spends most of his spare time brewing these days. He says he has orders to fill…" She stares incredulously at my face as she catches on. "You haven't even noticed that I've been here, have you?"

I cross my arms over my chest because I haven't clued into the fact that my roommate's sleeping at home more. "I've been busy. Are you gonna duke it out with him?"

"With Peeta?"

"No. With Prince Fucking Harry. Of course I mean Peeta!"

"No. Parents' Weekend is coming up and I don't want to give him more to deal with." She takes one look at my face, which is blank, before adding, "That's right…you don't know, do you? Both of Peeta's parents are coming."

" _Both_ of them? The witch is coming, too?" Even I go a little pasty-white, _that's_ how much of a bitch his mom is.

Katniss nods. "Yeah. He found out last week."

Ah. He must have gone on a baking binge, which would explain the big bag of muffins and scones that made an appearance in our room. "Well, let's hope she leaves her rolling pin at home." Katniss gives me the deep, dark Katniss-scowl that makes her look like Gale's long lost sister and I tell her so. Then I have to protect my face from the pencil that she hurls at me. "Hey! You'll poke an eye out, Brainless! I was gonna say that I'm happy to be skipping it this year."

"You're not coming?"

"Nah. The family's too big, too busy, and too far away to make the trek this year. I'm gonna watch Sam so Annie and Finn can hang," I answer her question with a shrug. The truth of the matter is that I haven't even invited my family.

An uncomfortable silence spins out. She opens and shuts her mouth a couple of times like she wants to say something. But, in the end, she just looks me dead in the eye and quietly says, "We'll miss you."

-o—

"Are you sure you won't come with us?" Annie parrots Katniss's sentiment as she takes off her fine-mesh Moby Wrap. Sam's sitting on the floor of my room making the grunting noise he knows will get me to hoist him to his feet so he can toddle around. I nod as he walks me over to our micro-fridge and stretches for the box of Nilla Wafers on top. What can I say? The kid's got great taste. He's thwarted when Annie takes the box away and reaches into the diaper bag for organic zwieback crackers instead. Sam immediately chucks them on the floor in displeasure.

We all laugh at his adorable disgruntlement. "It's alright, little man. Mama's leaving soon and then you and Auntie Jo can get into all kinds of trouble."

"Jo-"Annie gives me her best mom look. You know, the one where she lets me know that she's watching me, no matter how near or far she may be from where we are.

I give her a hard stare back. "Annie, go on. I'm _kidding_. We'll be fine. The worst thing we're going to do is eat some bad-for-us-snacks and watch some _Bubble Guppies_. Promise. Pinkie-swear, even." I take advantage of her ire triggered by the idea of me exposing her son to non-organic foodstuffs to deflect Annie's interest in where I'm spending my day. The last thing I need is to be surrounded by other people's families. Sure, it would be great to see Angus and Elizabeth. But I know that Angus can read me way too well where his grandson is concerned. He'll ask awkward questions about Brue or my family that I won't want to answer, and doing that with an audience is not what I call fun. Besides, this way I get to miss the Mellark family circus sideshow.

Because I don't care what Peeta and his dad make for dessert, Beelzebub himself would not be tempted to crash this party once he heard of Mrs. Mellark's attendance. And I'm pretty sure she works for him.

"Ready, m'lady?" Finn pokes his head in the door. "We want to get there before your uncle and my dad start arguing."

I roll my eyes at his gallantry. If there's one thing about Finn, it's that he's always ready for his grand entrance. And as for his dad…can he even attend Parents' Weekend if his son isn't a student? I suppose he can, since his daughter-in-law's still enrolled. I shoo the two of them out. Annie takes one last look back at her son, who's waving to her while holding onto my leg. It's not until we watch them go out the outermost door that Sam starts to sniffle.

"Dada! Dada!" He thumps his fist against my leg as if trying to get me to run after Finn and retrieve him.

"Sorry, kiddo," I tell him as I guide him into my room and shut the door, "I'm done running after people." I pick him up and nuzzle his soft, red hair. He smells like baby wash, wipes, and maybe a little pureed fruit. Sweet. Innocent. Clean. Like a fresh, ripe apple. I take another deep breath just because I can. If I'm being honest, Sam's weight in my arms and his familiar scent keep me from dwelling too much on the thought that my parents may not come even if I had asked. "Now, since you're the best date I've had all semester, let's live a little."

-o—

My text notification dings just as I'm dozing next to Sam. I ignore it because I am so, so tired. You'd think that all the running I've done would give me super-powers when it comes to dealing with toddlers. But there's something about their specific sort of madness – and the muscles that I use when I'm with them – that just wipes me out. My eyes have just closed, again, when two more come in rapid succession.

"This had better be good," I mutter and fumble for my phone. I almost drop it when I read the texts.

They're from Brue.

_**I'm on my way to your place.** _

_**Be there in five.** _

_**You're needed at the frat house.** _

Well, just fuck me. I'm not ready to see him. Certainly not alone. After everything I've done to try and avoid him, what do I even say? And what the hell is going on? I run my fingers through my hair and drag it into a pony tail, tug on some jeans, and am just pulling my t-shirt over my head to swap it for something a little dressier when Brue walks in.

Of course.

"Sam's sleeping," I whisper sharply over my naked shoulder before tugging my blouse down to my hips. Like Brue can't see the shadow of my pint-sized bed-mate because he's too busy looking at me.

Not.

I, however, can't tear my eyes away from him. He looks the same: tumbled curls and blue eyes topping a lean, tanned package. It's all I can do not to launch myself at him and see if he still fits against me the same way. For a split second I want to beg his forgiveness. Then I remember that he's the one who should be apologizing.

Even his frown is the same as he looks from me to the hot half-pint in my bed. "We've got to go."

"What's so urgent that they sent Milli Vanilli to get me? The original plan was that I meet you guys at the frat house after he wakes up and the parentals clears out."

His frown deepens. "Something…happened. Finn and Annie are taking Peeta to their place, I think. Or at least, they're talking about it. They asked me to come get you and Sam."

Annie and Finn would never just leave their son with me, no matter how much they trust me. Dread unfurls in the pit of my stomach. "Are we walking? Because last I checked, you don't have a car seat. And what happened?"

"We swapped cars when I volunteered to come get you."

Whoa! I haven't talk to him in months – since our last few text messages. And I've made it a point not to bump into him or go anywhere near the swim stadium when I know he'll be there. He volunteered? What sort of idiot would do that? He's looking at me with a serious and even tender expression on his face. I'd forgotten how focused he can get, how intent, when he looks at me. Surely that's a trick of the light? Because I'm not that girl. I'm not the one anyone cries over, or misses. And his opportunity to say he was sorry and to own up to his mistake is long gone.

"What the fuck is going on? It's not Annie, is it?"

"No. Not at all. If anything, she's the one…helping."

"Helping what?" I tap my foot. Seriously, if the guy doesn't tell me something, I'm gonna deck him.

He heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, like he's frustrated and trying to hold it all inside. "We were all having dinner. Things seemed fine." He raises an eyebrow when I snort at the idea of Peeta and Mrs. Mellark and _fine_ in the same sentence before he continues. "Someone said something and Mrs. Mellark just exploded. She was pretty brutal."

"Yeah, she's a real peach, alright." I frown, though, because I can't imagine anything bad enough for Peeta to totally fall apart and need reinforcements. "So that's it? That's the big deal? Peeta's got Mommy issues? That's nothing new."

When Brue hedges, I actually do flick him on the arm because I've had enough of his it to last a lifetime. Just rip the freaking Band-Aid off already. Instead of saying something, he gathers all of Sam's stuff together and gently packs it into the diaper bag. The sight of him down on his knees, calmly picking shit up drives me insane. I'm so angry that I can feel the blood pounding in my veins. There's no doubt that I would be screaming at him like a fishwife if it weren't for Sam napping five feet away. By the time he's done packing, I've decided that I almost don't care if I wake Sam up. Almost.

So I grab Brue's hand and drag him just outside the slightly open door. "What-"

"I never realized she was that bad." Brue shakes his head and I try not to get distracted by his hair, or how the scent of chlorine wafts to me from his skin. "How could Peeta grow up with that? He's such a good guy! And she's…." He sighs deeply.

I realize that he's not trying to put me off. He's just trying to process everything that's happened. Maybe that's a piece of Brue I've been missing all along: I've always assumed he's such a quick study, but maybe that's not true. Maybe, emotionally, it takes him time to work through things before he can find a way to talk about them. Maybe his lack of action or reaction had nothing to do with me. Maybe that was just Brue taking the time he needed.

I push the thought away before it can detonate inside my heart.

Finally, after another solid minute of silence where he does nothing but rub his hands through his hair, he shoves them in his pockets and meets my eyes. "Peeta's flunking out. He didn't want anyone to know…I have no idea why…and Mrs. Mellark announced at dinner that she's pulling him out at the end of the semester. Permanently."

The air whooshes out of my lungs like I've just been sacked by an 'SC linebacker. Thoughts run wily-nilly so I can't even put them into a coherent sentence. All I know is that I have to get to him and we have to help him. Somehow. "You grab the bags and I'll get Sam."

Resolve straightens my spine. There's no way we're not going down without a fight.

-o—

Annie's out back talking quietly to Peeta when we arrive. Finn, Madge, and Gale are entertaining the rest of the adults: namely Angus and Elizabeth, the Crestas, and Mr. Undersee. There's no sign of the Mellarks, Finn's Dad, or Haymitch. Or Katniss.

"Ah, lass, good to see ye." Angus envelopes me in a giant hug. I return it, much to my surprise. I guess I've missed the old goat.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask the room at large.

Gale answers, "Haymitch took her aside after the Mellarks left. I'm pretty sure he's talking her out of first degree homicide."

Of course Gale would have kept tabs on her. "That bad?"

Madge nods. "Mrs. Mellark called her a dumb slut, then proceeded to tell Peeta that not even Katniss would stay with him because he was too stupid to pass his classes."

I wince. "Ouch."

"Oh, that's not the half of it. Add in that he's worthless and will never amount to anything but working for minimum wage at the bakery. She's…horrible. But horrible seems too nice a word." Madge shudders.

"Despicable?" Mr. Undersee chimes in. "I'm glad Haymitch escorted that horrible woman out. I'm not sure that I would have been able to restrain myself from hitting her, and that would not have been good for my next campaign."

Madge smiles at him indulgently and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Daddy, we would have figured something out."

Yeah. He could have just slathered, "She's a bitch" on the posters. Chances are that he could have won just on that mileage alone. I smile at the thought of Haymitch showing that prissy cunt the door. I hope he slammed her fucking fingers in it. Better yet, I hope she chokes on those dry-as-shit airline pretzels.

Mr. Undersee gives Madge a wan smile. "Pumpkin, you have such faith. Well, I think this old man has had enough excitement for the night; I'm going to head back to the hotel. Are you kids sure that you'll be alright?"

We all make non-committal noises that let him know we'll be fine.

All of the adults make to leave: Mr. Undersee kisses Madge and shakes Gale's hand, Finn's dad, who's joined us and looks like he can't wait to get to his hotel mini-bar and lose himself in a girl barely older than we are, and the Crestas actually hug each of us. Annie's grandmother looks out at where Annie's sitting next to Peeta and murmurs something about wishing she could do more, while Annie's uncle just looks fierce and dark, and hot.

It dawns on me that, with the right tailor, Gale's going to have that look in the not-too-distant future. And, unlike Mr. Odair, he won't have to pay a salon and a surgeon to keep it from fading.

The Lion pulls me aside for a moment. "Lass, I am so sorry. I dinna realize that the harpy didna know about your friend's brewing."

"What?"

"I thought my grandson might have mentioned that I was the one who started the argument. There's been a review of Peeta's beers in L.A. Weekly, and I thought that his parents would be proud of all he's accomplished…I was wrong. If there's anything I can do…anything attall…" He kisses me on the cheek, as does Elizabeth before they take their leave.

What the fuck is with the MacLeod's and their meddling nature? Seriously? My friends and I were fine before they ever came into the picture.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts as I walk into the backyard. Even in the dim light from the fire pit, I can make out how bad Peeta looks: puffy face, red eyes, and tufts of hair sticking every which way. I'd think he was stoned out of his mind if he didn't look so defeated. Annie's words land like punches, making him jolt with the impact.

"Peeta, you have worth. You do. Think of everything you have to offer."

His voice is anguished. "What, Annie? What? She's right, you know. I couldn't hack it here. And Katniss will bail for sure, now. I wish…"

"What?"

He shakes his head, like it's not even worth saying until Annie nudges him with her infinite patience. "They're only words, Peeta. Tell me?"

"I wish I could freeze every Tuesday night, every one of them, and just live there forever. Friends and food and beer and fun and laughter…they were perfect. And then I went and fucked it all up. I'm a failure." He tugs on his hair so hard that it has to hurt and his eyes are glassy as tears drop to his cheeks.

"Who says?"

"You heard her. And she told everyone. _Everyone_ , Annie. They all know. How do I live with that, even if I could stay?"

"Well, I think the first step is to establish if _you_ believe you're a failure."

"Aren't I?"

"For not being able to go to school full time and deal with a burgeoning brewing business? That's not a failure, Peeta. That's an opportunity."

"It's not a business."

"It's not? You have people placing orders. You were reviewed in a major area magazine. How is that not a business? You could get it going properly, with a business plan and some funding, some additional space for more tanks—"

"They're called vats, Annie. And that's all well and good, but that takes time and talent and resources. What do I have? Odds are more likely that a tree on the Row gets hit by lightning at midnight than me getting a business like that off the ground. I should just go home."

"Nothing is impossible, Peeta. You have lots of options."

"It doesn't feel like it."

I find myself gagging a little. I mean, _really_? The guy's down, I get it. And Annie's sweetness and patience is really a balm to fragile egos and all that bullshit. But it's pretty clear that Peeta doesn't need that. What he needs is G.I. Jo. And now that I'm over the shock and the blood is pumping, I'm all for _getting involved_.

Get it?

I put on my best swagger. "Oh my God, Brainless… feel sorry for yourself much? Move over." I purposely squish myself between Annie and Peeta before dropping my voice a little. "I heard she did a number on you."

He nods.

"Well, fucking GOOD. Because now you can finally tell her to fuck off and get on with your life."

"Jo—"

"I love you, Annie, but shut up, for a sec. Peeta, I'm gonna ask you a question. You don't have to answer, but I want you to think about it. Just pretend I'm Dr. A. Ready? Do you want to be there working in the basement of the bakery, tending fires and living like a troll? Or here?"

"Jo, it's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. There or here. Where do you want to be?"

"Here, I guess."

"Then what's the problem? She's going to stop paying for stuff? Get a job. Do _something_." He shakes his head and looks away, tears sparkling in his baby blues. "Mellark, I think you're scared staying means risk. Staying means fighting. And yeah, that's hard. But what do you have to lo—"

"I don't want to be a failure here!" Peeta stands, fists clenched. His breath comes in pants. "What do I have left if I fail? I have nothing! Nothing! She owns me if I go back, sure. But it's worse if I stay here and can't…can't live. What if I can't live?"

I look at him with approval. "Then it's on your own terms. You'll know, right? If you go home, you'll never know what you could have done, who you could have been."

He deflates, like one of those balloons they use at car dealerships left too long without an air compressor. "That's just it, Jo…I just want to be me. That's all."

I stare at him for a minute, but he says no more. "That's it?"

"Yeah."

Is he fucking kidding me? Where's the fight? Where's the energy that Peeta always has? When he does nothing but stare at the fire, I get up and walk back into the house. I have no idea how to help a guy who wants to do nothing but sacrifice himself so he can remain intact. None of us have that luxury. He either adapts or he's dead.

-o-

A month later, none of us know what Peeta's going to do. Part of the time he's his normal, confident self who cracks jokes and stays busy. He bakes, he brews. He cajoles us into eating an enormous Thanksgiving meal, complete with a roasted turkey so succulent the skin is the color of an acorn; stuffing with and without spiced sausage; buttery scalloped corn; green bean casserole with just the right amount of salty, creamy goodness; mashed potatoes; yams with marshmallows; two kinds of rolls; and cranberries, glowing like rubies, sauced with wine and cinnamon. There are pies so sweet and flaky that they dissolve on the tongue in flavors that make us all groan: pumpkin, Dutch caramel apple, blueberry lemon, and cherry laced with brandy. Did I mention that there's eight of us? None of us complain, especially when we go back for seconds and thirds.

The other half of the time, he's withdrawn and sullen. A pale version of himself. He mumbles under his breath and seems smaller somehow. Like his mother's lies are venom that you can actually see sucking the vitality from him. He's at war with himself - that much is obvious. But what happens when our bun-wielding Cinderella's coach turns back into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight?

Which is why it doesn't surprise me to find Finn and Katniss poised over Peeta's sleeping form on the last Saturday before Christmas. We've all crashed at Finn's again, in something like a mash-up between a frat party and an episode of The Nanny, with a healthy measure of Peeta-as-Eeyore thrown in. They're holding their fingers over their lips and giggling loudly. As if I'm going to be the one who's going to wake him up, with the way they're carrying on. Somehow, they manage to hold their breath long enough to get their faces practically right up against his. One of them pokes him and yeah, his response is pretty typical: he bolts straight upright as he practically wets himself in fright as the two of them collapse into peals of laughter.

Sure, it's juvenile. But it's how I know that Katniss and Finn want Peeta to understand how loved he is. Things like this will be missed if he's not here. And none of us – not even Peeta – is sure how much longer he has. The odds on it can't be predicted because the answer is locked away inside Peeta himself.

He's still grumbling an hour later when we all sit down to breakfast. I make omelets, and surprise, surprise, everyone's eating them. I guess there is something to be said for all the weekends Peeta's been spending with Annie and Finn: I'm learning to cook things that other people find edible. Not that my brown sugar and bacon wrapped tater tots aren't amazing, mind you. It's just nice to make one or two things that people who don't work out like six hours a day can eat.

Everyone's quiet because today Katniss gets on a plane for home. Without Peeta. He's got a few more days to consider his mother's oh-so-gracious offer to go work at the bakery like a dog for the rest of his miserable life. And, judging from the arguments that he and Katniss and the rest of us continue to have, he's going to need every second to think things through.

"You could take the money the MacLeod's gave me." Katniss's voice is low and earnest. It's an argument they've had more than a few times.

I can tell from Peeta's clenched jaw where this is gonna go, though. "No. You need that money for Prim and your mother. For grad school. For _anything_ but giving me charity."

"I owe you." It's the wrong thing to say. He gets up from the table with a squeak of his chair legs and strides into the other room, where I can see his chest heaving. She follows him, knowing this is her last chance to convince him not to leave. "You could take the money, Peeta. And we could stay here. Stay together."

He's shaking his head before she's even finished and his voice cracks when he responds, "You'd look at me and think about it. Think about what it could have done for Prim. It would be nothing but a chain to hold you to me. I would never be anything but a failure to you – a disappointment – if I took it."

She's desperate. "But-"

"I don't want to owe you, Katniss, when I owe you so much already." He pulls away from her and takes her hands in his. "You've given me a chance at really being happy for a while. I'll treasure it, always. And you're going to go on and do great things, I know it. I…I just…I won't let myself hold you back, anymore."

"Are you _breaking up_ with me? Peeta, please-" Katniss looks like someone just punched her in the stomach.

Peeta touches her face. "We can't pretend this isn't going to happen anymore. We have to stop lying to ourselves. If I go back…when I go back there, I have to picture you out here, having fun, living the life you should be living. It would make me happy. It's probably the only thing that _could_ make me happy. Your friends and Prim – even your future patients need you, Katniss."

"What about you?"

He shrugs. There's not an ounce of self-pity in his voice, like he's already accepted his fate at the hands of a woman who didn't deserve to bear him. "No one needs really needs me."

Something strange and powerful – an expression I've never seen before – crossed Katniss's face. Her chin lifts and her eyes light with a blazing need. "I do. I need you."

And then she crosses to him before he can move or even think. She's on him and they're kissing and I think one of them is sobbing. Peeta's hands tremble as they cup her head, his thumbs brushing her cheeks like he has to make this kiss last forever.

In that moment, like a news-flash, it's obvious: it does need to last forever. Peeta's saying goodbye.

It's too much. I have to look away.

I join Annie in the kitchen and help her and Finn clean up the dishes. We're just finishing when a blushing Katniss and a sniffly Peeta join us.

Peeta clears his throat. "Uh, I'm going to head back to the house. I've got some stuff to pack up." He turns to Katniss, tugs on her braid and says, "I'll see you later." It's obvious that he's trying to keep things light, but it doesn't work. She grabs his hand where it holds her braid and squeezes. It's finally Peeta who has to turn away with tears in his eyes. He's so emotional that he can't say a word to the rest of us; he just waves on his way out the door.


	41. Hijacked

Annie, Sam, and I pick at dinner – the last dinner of Peeta's we may ever eat – while he packs for the red-eye. We've already finalized our plan to ship the rest of his stuff after he's back East. The brewing stuff is dismantled and either packed or given away to fraternity brothers or folks he knows from the online brewing community. He's notified everyone that's placed an order that the keg's dried up. The train's hit the end of the line. He's really doing this.

Peeta's leaving.

Fucker.

I can't even look at the pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and celery sitting in front of me. It's better than the food I could be eating tonight at Angus's annual holiday party, which is really saying something. But I can't face it without my gut clenching. Watching him these past weeks has been tough. And not just watching him and Katniss say goodbye: Peeta has almost withered away to a shadow of his former self. He's had to talk to his mother pretty frequently in the last week and her venom seems to sap something elemental right out of him. He's disappearing right before my eyes. He's become this sort of angry shell without a kind word for anyone except Sam and Annie. Even his nightmares are louder. Oh, I don't help. But I hear them through the wall. Sometimes I hear Annie wake him with words I can't quite make out before I give up and put my earbuds in.

I can't fathom it, how someone so genuinely kind and thoughtful could just become someone else practically overnight. If I thought having Carys there one minute and then gone the next was difficult, this losing Peeta by bits and pieces is just torture. Pure, fucking torture. Annie's probably got it worse, because she still believes in the kindness of people. At least I'm just a realistic bitch about it. The facts are simple: he's gone and he's not coming back. The cunt won.

So I hold in the tears as I pull small bits off of a roll that tastes like golden butter and sunshine and laughter and friendship and dunk them in the best gravy I'll ever taste. What good will it do to cry? It won't bring him back, just like it didn't bring Carys back, just like it didn' solve things with Brue. Tears won't help anything. We've just got to accept that this is our new normal, and move the hell on.

Annie excuses herself to answer a knock on the door. She's been pretty reserved, but I can tell it's affecting her, too. She hasn't backslid or anything, but she's quiet. She seems to be holding Finn and Sam closer to her, even while she's slowed down her efforts at trying to win Finn over. I guess she's either accepting Finn's limitations or she can only work on one really emotional breakdown at a time.

I'm stunned to hear Haymitch's voice from the doorway. I had thought he was already back in Fairfield, getting drunk at his private pond and feeding the geese who hadn't flown south for the winter.

"Sorry to interrupt, everyone. Is Peeta here? Katniss mentioned he had already moved out of the fraternity house." He eyes dinner with frank appreciation.

Annie murmurs that she'll get him and gives me the universal sign for _offer him some_.

I do. Haymitch practically jumps on the plate when I tell him that Peeta made it, and he's mashing the vegetables into the gravy and slathering it all onto a roll, like it's the messiest sandwich on the planet, when Peeta walks in.

Peeta crosses his arms in front of his chest. "What do you want, Haymitch? I'm a little busy."

Haymitch chews slowly, taking in Peeta's belligerent stance and the jumping muscle in his jaw. A bit of vegetable falls out of Haymitch's roll and plops onto the plate as the two men face each other. "Why don't you have a seat, boy?"

Peeta's tone is cold steel laced with exasperation. "I told you-"

"I heard you. Now sit your butt down." Haymitch carefully puts his sandwich down and licks his fingers while he waits for his instructions to be followed. When Peeta doesn't seem to be in any hurry, Haymitch steeples his fingers and leans forward. "You're the one with someplace to be; I have all the time in the world."

Peeta doesn't move, so Haymitch shovels a few forkfuls of beef into his mouth and groans appreciatively. I'm sure it's because the mellow taste of rosemary, red wine, and thyme mixes with the buttery creaminess of the potatoes and dances along his palate. When he asks for a glass of water, clearly settling in, Peeta swears under his breath and slides onto a chair. "Fine. My butt is planted. Now what's so important that it can interrupt my final few hours with my friends, when you can see me at the bakery in less than twelve hours, every day, for the rest of my life?"

Haymitch chews, swallows, and takes a drink before clearing his throat. "I bought a building."

Peeta clenches and unclenches his fists. "Well, whoop-dee-do for you, rich guy. I'm sure you have lots of 'em."

"I don't think you're understanding me, boy." Haymitch reaches into the inner pocket of his cashmere sport coat – it's cold outside at night in L.A. – and pulls out a manila envelope. He slides it across the table. "Open it." When Peeta doesn't, Haymitch mumbles that Peeta is supposed to be the biddable one and dumps out the contents: keys and a document that has the word _Title_ across it spill across the table.

"So?"

Haymitch is clearly not used to Peeta being so difficult. "So? So it's yours if you want it. Turn it into a brewery. Make it a bakery. Hell, make sandwiches if you want and sell them out the back. It's a sound investment for me, even at a loss."

Peeta stares at Haymitch like he's just grown two heads. "I can't just _take_ a building. What about rent? I have no capital, no customers. And I gave all of my equipment away-"

Haymitch leans back and considers this new Peeta. Finally, he shrugs. "Pay me back in beer when I'm in town."

"My mother is expecting me on a flight _tonight_. I can't just change all of my plans because you swoop in at the last minute. It's a little late for you to save me, don't you think?"

"It took me this long to get the deal closed. And are you saying you actually _want_ to go back there and work for that woman?" Haymitch looks from Peeta to me to Annie. "He can't be serious. I'll give you the capital to get the building set up, and I've already talked to Angus about a small investment to get you truly launched as a business. Hell, Effie needs a hobby: I'll put her in charge of permits. It will get her off my ass, so it's like you're doing me a favor."

Peeta shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair for the five-thousandth time. He sounds more courteous, and also more beaten, than he has all night. "Haymitch, look. I appreciate this. I know Katniss probably put you up to it. But my plans are set and I can't back out now."

I've had it with keeping my mouth shut. "What the fuck are you doing, Brainless? Haymitch is giving you a way out on a silver platter parachuting down from the fucking sky. And you're turning it down? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

Peeta rounds on me, breathing hard. "Jo, you don't understand. She'll kill me if I don't go back."

Annie's quiet voice cuts through the tension. "No, Peeta. She'll kill you if you do go back. Look what she's already done to your spirit. Haymitch is giving you a totally reasonable way to stay here."

"For how long, Annie? I have no means to support myself, no business plan. Nothing."

Annie gently lays a hand on his arm. "You have friends, Peeta. That's not nothing. We can all help."

Haymitch pushes back his chair. It's not lost on anyone that the contents of the envelope are still in the middle of the table. "Think about it, boy. I don't need an answer right now. Like I said, the place can sit empty for all I care. And for the record, I'm doing this because I like you. Sure, you keep the girl on track, but it's more than that: if anyone's got it in him to succeed, it's you. And I should know, right?" He messes Sam's hair before striding to the door and looking over his shoulder. "I'll look for you at the bakery. If you're there, we can forget this ever happened and I'll let you live your life in misery. But if you're not, I'm going to relish going in every week just to see that witch cry all over herself when you don't go running home."

-o-

"Oh my God. It's a fucking _dump_."

"Jo!" Annie chastises.

I can't help it. Haymitch might have left Peeta a building, but the inside of it is gutted to the point where it's just two stories of glass and load-bearing concrete walls. The front door has a small landing of concrete in front of it, before it opens onto a gaping chasm of a basement that would make a third floor - if there was a floor. I wonder if that's even to code in earthquake-friendly L.A.

"Jo's right." Peeta looks around, already defeated.

I can't let him give up before he's even started. After all, it took every single minute after Haymitch left for Annie and me to convince him to stay in the first place. I cover my gaffe with a thump on the shoulder. "It's better than being stuck in a dungeon back home, listening to "Afternoon Delight" and "Girl from Ipanema" all day. And it's got a lot of light!" I poke him in the ribs to further illustrate my sincerity. "Come, on, Brainless. Let's go back outside and start at the bottom."

An hour later, we've finished our little tour. There's not much to the place. The pit of the basement is open to the main floor and can be accessed through a ramp driveway or a set of exterior stairs. A freight elevator gets us to the main and top floors. The main level is mostly one big space, from the pit on up to the ceiling. Concrete walls topped with glass below the sloped roof make it eco-friendly. It has the remnants of a small kitchen or staff break-room or something –there's a broken microwave and some horrible Formica-topped cabinets right next to another roll-up delivery door. Guys' and Girls' bathrooms each boast a cracked and horrifyingly-dirty industrial shower. Overlooking us from above is a loft hallway that connects four large rooms. Each has its own doors with locks, concrete walls, and the same glass above to the ceiling. It makes them really warm, but the interior and exterior windows open and giant fans above us actually work to circulate the air. There's also a set of stairs labelled "roof access", but we don't venture there.

"Wow," I say again as I look around after our assessment. I can't even figure out where to start.

Annie, though, seems to have a ton of ideas. "Oh, Peeta, this has so much potential! The kettles can go back there." She points to the faux kitchen.

"They're called vats, Annie." Peeta, for the most part, has been quiet. But he rubs his chin thoughtfully. "I think it would be better if they go down there."

"In the basement?"

He nods. "Yeah. There's a ton of space, so I could expand if I need to without worrying about weight. The ramp and big doors make it easier to get the stuff in and out." He stops and frowns. "Once I have stuff to actually get in and out."

I act like the helpful friend I've been and chime in, "No problem, Peet. I already sent out an email letting the frat guys and your brewing buddies know you're back. I took the liberty of posting it on a couple of the brewing sites, too. Also, I grabbed you a domain name and set up an email address for you." He looks at me like I've lost my mind, so I shrug. "It's a 21st century world, Brainless. If you want your equipment back, you've got to get the word out."

Peeta sighs like he's still not fully on board. "Fine. Let's make a list of everything we need."

Annie claps. "I'll start with the bathrooms." I've never seen someone so ready to tackle a bunch of toilets.

"And I'll get internet access figured out." I don't bother telling them that I'm able to grab an unsecured WiFi connection from the next building over that will get us started.

"I'll start moving some boxes in." Peeta nods to us and heads out to my car to grab a few things from the back.

I crack my knuckles. If this were an 80's movie, there would be a cleaning montage with a kick-ass soundtrack, probably by Queen. Which really isn't that bad an idea; music makes the world go 'round, right? That makes my first order of business getting speakers for my iPhone hooked up.

-o—

Peeta works some serious magic in the next couple of weeks. Spreading the word online doesn't hurt either, as people email him to either give him his equipment back or give tips on where to get cheap stuff. Even his fraternity brothers chip in to help. It's funny how many times we hear, "I know a guy…" in the weeks that follow Peeta's decision to stay in L.A. It doesn't hurt that Peeta's working like a dog. He's even taken to sleeping in the rat hole, bathing in the utility shower, and generally working like a crazed lunatic around the clock to get equipment set up.

Annie and I show up when we can – Annie more than me. I'm not exactly sure when she and Peeta got so close. I can't deny, though, that the two of them laugh a lot more together than they do when they're apart. They each have shadows in their eyes, but they seem to be able to forget them when they're together. School breaks make it easier to get together, as does Tyrell reducing my schedule to ten hours a week. But Peeta's working so hard that he needs more help than we can provide. It's a good thing that the frat brothers step up as they trickle back from break. They even move the foosball table from the frat house and an air hockey table of unknown origin into the place. There's talk of a pool table, but one has yet to materialize. I'm sure the next time one falls off a truck on the 110 freeway, it will make its way here. Peeta's frat brothers seem to be treating this place like it's a cross between the Batcave and the Honeycomb Hideout. Sort of an urban treehouse. Or some sort of Neverland. Frankly, I'm surprised they let Annie and me into the place whenever we come. After all, we're _girls._

It's right around Valentine's Day, and we've scrubbed until my arms ache, my lats are sore, and every pore oozes Mr. Clean. We practically pass out the second we walk through the door of Finn and Annie's. At least, I almost do. Annie seems to have energy to burn these days, and a quiet intensity that rivals Peeta's. As usual, Sam and Finn are upstairs, passed out from whatever they've done today. Finn's still not enrolled in classes, _shock_. But I have to admit that he seems to be enjoying his time with Sam more than I ever thought he would. Katniss spends time here helping him out, too. I can always tell when she's been by because three-foot lengths of orange rope are scattered about.

"Everything hurts. How can every muscle in my body hurt? I swear, I didn't hurt this much when I was running," I whimper quietly as I lay my head on the cool, cool table. "I just want a shower and then bed. You want to go first?" When I don't hear anything, I repeat myself. "Annie, do you want to hop in the shower first?"

Still nothing.

Although it takes a Herculean effort, I raise my head. Annie's in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator door with the strangest look on her face and a yellow Post-It in her hand.

"Annie? What's going on?" I'm not sure if I should be worried because she's finally cracked. By the time I've walked the ten steps to her and taken the note, I've made up all sorts of horrid scenarios. Suddenly it's no longer okay that Finn and Sam aren't where I can see them, touch them, hug them. And then Annie smiles the softest, gentlest smile I've ever seen. It's like angel wings.

I take the paper and read it. "Everything carries me to you."

It's not Annie's handwriting, but I recognize it.

It's Finn's.

"What is this?" I dangle the note. The words make no sense.

Annie looks into space and her eyes take on a soft focus as if she's seeing something only she can see. "It's a Pablo Neruda poem. I don't remember all of it, but Finn read it to me on the night he first…" She blushes slightly as she drifts off. It's a full thirty seconds before her eyes focus again. "It's a good memory."

I can imagine how Finn might have used a love poem with devastating effect. Poor Annie never stood a chance. "Why would Finn write that on a note?"

Finn's the one who answers quietly from behind us. "Because I miss my wife." He comes closer. "Do you remember that night, Annie? You loved that line. But I think the last verse is better. Especially now."

She shakes her head slowly and Finn recites:

But  
if each day,  
each hour,  
you feel that you are destined for me  
with implacable sweetness,  
if each day a flower  
climbs up to your lips to seek me,  
ah my love, ah my own,  
in me all that fire is repeated,  
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,  
my love feeds on your love, beloved,  
and as long as you live it will be in your arms  
without leaving mine.

It's the sort of poem that would have throngs of women falling at his feet, clamoring for one night in his arms. Annie is no different: she looks shell-shocked as he gently runs the back of his hand down her cheek. "I love you, Annie. So much. All these nights I've been waiting for you. But the reality is that you've been waiting for me all along."

I'm totally expecting Finn to move in for a kiss at this point. I mean, that's his modus operandi, right? But he doesn't; the two of them just stare at each other with a look that goes on and on for days. Finally, Annie smiles. But smile is too tepid a word for what happens. It's like she's lit incandescently with a fire from within. I've never seen that from Annie, but evidently Finn has. His answering smile, which I fully expect to be cocky and self-assured, is shy, sweet, and full of tenderness.

They only have eyes for each other. I'm pretty sure you could power all of downtown with the electricity zinging between the two of them. So I snort and say, "Okay, you two. I'll make sure to put my ear buds in tonight."

They're still silent, smiling those weird smiles when I close my door.

-o-

The same week, Peeta makes nice with the homeless in the neighborhood, who must smell it when he starts cooking mash and wonder what the hell it is. I don't get the draw of something that smells like a corn field threw up, but maybe they do. Of course, some of them show up thinking it's food. And Peeta's too nice to turn them away. He's even taken to letting some of them help out in exchange for a meal or a shower.

Which is why I'm not surprised to see two of the most frequent "visitors" messing with an oven's temperature dial when Annie, Finn, and I show up on a Saturday morning after passing Sam off – on my part, begrudgingly - to Brue.

I drop my bags of groceries on the Formica with a sigh of relief and ask, "What's all this?" I direct my question to Peeta and another fraternity brother of his that are wrestling with a deep-freezer that looks to be from the 1950's.

Peeta wear an ear-to-ear grin. "Isn't it great? It's a bunch of kitchen stuff that came from a restaurant that's closing down on Third."

I snort. "Closing down? That looks like it came through a grease fire or was used to hide a body. And what are Nuts and Volts doing?" I nod over at where they have their heads together in careful concentration.

Peeta frowns. "I wish you wouldn't talk about Wiress and Beetee that way. They're great people. He's helped me hook up a lot of stuff here. He's totally a whiz with chemistry and electrical work, and he's even helping me with a new beer mix. And Wiress resoldered the board on the microwave so it works!"

"Yeah, whatever. Here's the sandwich stuff you asked us to get."

Peeta stares my flippant attitude down and crosses his arms over his chest. "Seriously, Jo, cut them some slack, okay? They're calibrating the temperature control on that oven. We've got to clean all this stuff up before we can even think of using it, and that's going to take all day even with their help. Or are you just upset that Beetee's welds are better than yours?"

"So what if he's got a steadier hand than I do? How the hell did he learn how to weld? And they're here all the time," I grumble. "Plus, you had better not even _think_ of making them a sandwich. I'm going to go help Annie and Finn arrange shelving upstairs. She insists that if you're going to sleep here you have more than a crappy futon mattress thrown on the floor. "

Peeta smiles at my grumbling and knows he's won. There's not a doubt that they'll be here the whole day and he'll end up feeding them. But really, is it so bad that they smell weird and mumble a bit if they make him happy? Because he's happier now than he's been since he decided to stay and endure his self-imposed torture here.

Peeta summons us to lunch the same dramatic way he's taken to all week: striking a gong. Yeah. A _gong._ Seems that a homeless guy dragged it in as payment for a sandwich and Peeta's taken a liking to it. I have to admit, now that it's been polished, it is pretty cool. And the noise it makes is astounding. Seriously, with all the concrete and glass, it's like being inside one big doorbell. It carries over the din of a bunch of frat guys playing air hockey and Hacky Sack while David Guetta thumps over the speakers.

Annie's loathe to leave what I call her Barbie Dreamhouse project, though, so she drags her feet until she hears my stomach rumble. Hers answers in kind and we both laugh. Finn tells us that _Decorating on a Dime_ will still be here after we eat, so we head downstairs.

"What did you bring him this time?" Annie locks up the top-level area Peeta's been using as his own. He may not have a lot of stuff, but who knows who's coming and going these days?

"Turkey, ham, cheese. The usual. But I also threw in some apples, Neufchâtel, caramel sauce, walnuts, Fritos, and Buffalo wing sauce. Maybe today's the day I dare him to make me a grilled cheese with the acetylene torch."

Annie shakes her head at the game I've been playing. We've each taken turns buying lunches and dinners for Peeta since the guy doesn't seem to leave the premises. And the more folks who show up, the more food seems to make its way to his kitchen from various folks who have the same idea. It seems everyone treats it like either a giant potluck or some sort of bartering station. So I've taken to including ingredients that make it more like _Iron Chef: Roughing It_ than Subway. I don't think Peeta's caught on, either, which is what makes it freaking hilarious. The only thing I don't mess with is bread. Peeta is a bread snob from way back, so it's important to get only the best for our Baker Boy. Seems like you can take the boy out of bakery, but you can't take the bakery out of the boy.

"Maybe they'll get the stove hooked up." Annie's continued optimism doesn't surprise me.

We're just coming out of the stairwell door when we hear five lost-looking people standing on the landing by the front door in front of The Pit call, "Hello?"

Okay, only four of them look lost. One just looks smoking hot and uber-confident in low-rise skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and perfectly-applied gold eyeliner. Skin the color of polished acorns makes me just want to reach out and touch someone. Or run my hands over his tight-cropped black hair. Whatever. I'm flexible. And judging from the lean muscles that hint at yoga or Pilates, so is he.

He glances around. "Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks. It's not ours, but come on in. We're about to have lunch. You guys want to join?" Annie waves them all inside. Frankly, I hope they hurry. I'm hungry.

There's an awkward pause. The statuesque blonde with the glowing hazel eyes and equally burnished skin motions to the chasm.

She doesn't have to do more than that before Annie flashes a sheepish grin and releases a rope swing that a couple of the frat boys rigged to traverse The Pit. "Sorry about that. Just swing across."

At the look that passes between them, I add, "Yeah. Pretend you're in Star Wars and the bridge panel was shot. Oh, and don't look down."

We guide the newcomers to the kitchen where Peeta's got paper plates and cut sandwiches lined up on the counter. I notice right away that the stove is in place. A frat guy has Peeta cornered, explaining that he thinks they should demo the counter and cabinets. "Dude, I've got a lead on some rolling stainless counters that would be amazing in here. It should be easy to get these pieces of shit out - a day, maybe two. Tops."

Yeah. I'll believe that when I see it. You know what they say: If you give a frat guy a hammer… he'll come up with a stupid way to use it. I think the cabinets are perfectly serviceable the way they are. It's not like Peeta needs a full kitchen here. He'll see sense soon and move back into Annie and Finn's. And until then, who needs rolling storage? Besides, the guy's probably getting it from a morgue.

Peeta actually seems like he might be buying what this schmuck is saying, so I barge in. "Hey, Peet. You've got visitors."

He brightens and turns to the little pack of newbies. "Welcome. I'm Peeta. What can I do for you?"

There's a conference behind the super-hottie as he introduces the group. "I'm Cinna. These are my friends: Tigris, Portia, Octavia, and Flavius. We're from the College of Art over on Grand. We heard you were setting something up over here and wanted to check it out. Great space."

Peeta smirks. "Thanks, it's getting there. Care to pull up a chair and have something to eat? There's turkey with apples, Neufchatel, and sunflower seeds on Squaw, or spicy buffalo turkey with crushed Fritos on jalapeño cheese bread, or I can make you something special. We have plenty. Only water to drink, though. My first batch of beer isn't ready for tasting yet."

I frown. _Plenty_ is a sliding scale depending on which frat brothers show up this afternoon.

Cinna smiles, warming his eyes to a whiskey color, making him even hotter. "Not necessary, although that sounds wonderful. We just stopped by to see how this all works."

"This all? What do you mean?" Peeta hands out plates to the rest of us. It's about time, because my stomach feels like it's one of the chestbursters from _Aliens_.

The tall goddess motions to the food and then around her head. Her voice is raspy, almost a growl and rather low. "We've heard all kinds of rumors about this place. That you feed people in exchange for junk that you're turning into art. That it's some sort of play place for college kids. And - my personal favorite - that you're starting a commune." At that last bit, she eyes Finn like she knows exactly who he is.

Peeta laughs. "A commune? No. It's just a brewery. And we have all this other space…anyone who helps out is welcome to eat, or hang out, or dance, or whatever."

"No sex, though," I add, chewing a bite of heaven. When Cinna raises an eyebrow, I explain, "Peeta's put a moratorium on sex on the premises. The phrase 'get a room' cannot be uttered here."

Annie laughs. "We only did that because of you, Jo."

Yeah, like a little rule like that is going to stop me from feeding Smaug. I shrug. "Just explaining the guidelines."

Cinna nods. "Good to know. Well, we're all artists. I was thinking that maybe we could display some of our art here."

I cackle. "Art? Are you okay with your audience being a bunch of frat guys and homeless people? Because that's about all that comes through here. Most of the sorority girls bailed after the No-Dick Edict." The look of utter horror that passes over Flavius's and Octavia's faces isn't lost on me, but neither Cinna nor Tigris bat an eyelash.

"We'll display anywhere. We're just trying to get our names out there."

Peeta rubs his chin. "I'd want to see what you're going to put up before it comes in the door. To have right of refusal."

"Sounds perfect." Cinna shakes Peeta's hand.

"Next time maybe you can stay for a bite?" Peeta sounds hopeful. The guy is always up for feeding the masses. "We have something new every day. And maybe with the new stove and a fridge that's bigger than my dorm-sized one, I can get more creative."

"Food as art. I like it." Tigris examines my sandwich more closely before narrowing her eyes at Peeta. She growls in challenge, "I'm gluten-intolerant." He sucks in a breath like she just kicked him. "And transgender. Is that going to be an issue here?"

Peeta rubs his heart. "Is your intolerance going to be a problem around a guy who likes to bake?" She shakes her head. "Then no. If you can hang, so can we." It's a crappy choice of words, but it gets him a grudging smile.

Midterms approach and a new routine develops: the frat guys show up right around the time the homeless shift ends. Volts and Peeta spend a lot of time during the day brewing small batches of new recipes, checking the temperature in the existing tanks, and making sure that all of the new equipment is working as it should Peeta scribbles a lunch menu on one of the concrete walls every day. He erases it right around the time we show up, replacing the sandwich board recipes with heartier ones for the night. The art guys take to doodling a frame around it, just like they do around the "What's Brewing" beer list. Everyone who comes brings something to share: sometimes "stuff" for Peeta, sometimes ingredients, sometimes musical talent that accompanies dinner. Peeta accepts it all. As far as I know, no one disrespects him enough to bring something unusable. Peeta's innate goodness catches on like a fire. The guy may still be the darkest version of himself I've ever seen, but no one else seems to notice.

A homeless dude gets a lead on some trestle tables, which makes eating together more fun than doing it standing up. We set them up in one long line. It feels like a wedding reception, or maybe a barn-raising. One night this one-armed guy named Chaff stands up after a dinner of stew and mashed potatoes that's very reminiscent of the meal Peeta served Haymitch, and raises his red Solo cup. "To Peeta," he says with a glint of respect in his dark eyes. It's a testament to everything Peeta is that all of us – homeless or student or frat guy or artist – stand and salute with our cups.

"Can we join the party?" a familiar droll voice asks from the entry. I have no idea how Gale got across The Pit, since the rope is tied back in its usual spot. And then I remember not to underestimate him; the guy might be broody, but he's got mad skills when it comes to working through problems. Plus, Katniss and Madge are with him . If there's one thing I know about the three of them, it's that they're not going to let the lack of a bridge stop them from getting where they want to go.

Peeta's jaw clenches. I know he's neither seen nor talked to Katniss since she went home, despite her best attempts. Annie knows more about the situation than I do, but somehow he feels like a failure around Katniss. Or maybe I should say _most potently_ around her. I'm pretty sure, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, that it's fear of failure that keeps him up at night. And I should know, since we seem to timeshare that demon.

"Gale, come on in. It'll feel just like dinner at your mom's," I snipe to keep it from getting awkward. A couple of folks vacate chairs and the three new arrivals sit down.

Gale dishes some of the stew into bowls for him and Madge. Katniss shakes him off, so he just shrugs. He takes a bite of the stew and closes his eyes to relish it. "Peet, your cooking is the best." He blows on the next bite and pauses to say, "Love the new place. Lots of light."

Gale's right. Even at night, the inside glows with warm light from the industrial lighting Nuts and Volts have rigged up. Cinna's friends have taken the longest strand that hangs like a pendant above The Pit and threaded it through with recycled Styrofoam pieces. They diffuse the light and make the coolest looking eco-chandelier. From the edges of The Pit you can't even tell that they're essentially trash. I'm quickly learning, though, that one man's trash is indeed another's treasure.

Peeta swallows like he doesn't trust the compliment. "Thanks."

Discomfort hangs thick in the air. I don't think anyone picks up on it, but maybe I'm wrong because the room clears out pretty fast until it's just Gale and Madge, Annie and Finn, Katniss and Peeta, and me. Peeta crosses to the industrial sink and grabs a dishtowel to wipe down the aged Formica. Katniss fiddles with a piece of orange rope. Gale and Madge eat quietly.

Finn's the one who breaks the silence. "It's been too long. It's good to see you guys."

Peeta stops wiping and raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "It hasn't been that long for you, Finn. Annie tells me that you've spent a lot of time with Katniss while Annie's been here with me."

There's some innuendo in his tone that Finn doesn't like, but Finn doesn't lose his cool. "We've spent some time together, yes. She needed someone to talk to."

"I bet," Peeta bites out. "Annie's an amazing lady. Careful I don't try to steal her away from you."

That's so out of character for Peeta, so bitter and douchey that I stare at him in amazement. Is he trying to start a fight? Katniss blinks rapidly and ties an intricate knot that I've seen Finn do dozens of times. Annie looks from Finn to Peeta and back with wide eyes. She's taut, like she's ready to bolt at any second. I have to believe it's because she and Finn are on better footing these days than any time in recent memory. _Don't fuck this up for her, Brainless._ No need for me to say it out loud, though. An even bigger douche does that for me.

Gale gapes, then blurts, "Aren't you out of line, Peet?" Clearly, he is either oblivious to the tension or truly believes he has some uncrackable nuts.

Peeta rounds on him, like Gale just poked the wrong bear. "Like you have room to talk, Gale. Seems like monogamy isn't your strong suit, either."

There's a moment where that sinks in for everyone at the table. It's quiet before Gale – very slowly – stands. "What are you talking about?"

Peeta's gaze lands heavily on Katniss before jumping to Gale. His fists clench around the hand towel like it's someone's neck and he turns an odd shade of red. "Oh, I heard all about it. What's the matter? Get tired of Madge putting you in your place? Need someone who's more docile to make you feel like a man? It's about time you made your move. I know how you like that vulnerable act."

I'm stunned that Peeta just called Katniss _docile._ That's like calling a honey badger a great family pet. Sure, she has her moments, but a pushover she is not.

I'm about to defend her when Madge's voice cracks like a whip. "Stop it. Right now." I can actually hear Gale breathing heavily at the insinuation. Madge has a hand on his chest, but her eyes impale Peeta. "Stop this. We're all friends here."

Peeta scoffs and snaps the towel against the counter like a cat swishing its tail. "Friends? Do friends move right in on one another's girlfriends?"

"Ex," Katniss cuts in. It's the first thing she's said to Peeta in months and it's as venomous as anything that's come from Peeta's mouth. She clarifies, "If we're talking about me, I'm your ex-girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend. I'll add that to the list of words I use to figure you out: friend, lover, neighbor, hunter…I'm sure I can think of a few others." The way Peeta say it leaves little doubt as to what some of those other words are.

Madge glares at them both. "Katniss, you are not helping. Peeta, sit down and tell us what the hell you're talking about. And for God's sake, put the towel down."

Peeta ignores Madge's measured words. He jabs a finger at Gale. With a crimson face he spits, "You fucked her."

 _Wait. What?_ I don't know about the rest of the group, but I'm totally lost. "Brainless, what are you talking about?"

He rolls his eyes at me like I'm too slow to keep up. "Gale and Katniss. I heard about how they were together all of break. How Katniss was happy." To her, he says, "I'm surprised you were able to keep your jeans on until Fairfield." His eyes shift to Madge. "Why don't you ask him what he did back home?"

Madge bristles but somehow manages to keep her voice gentle. "I don't need to ask him, Peeta. I was with him." Gale looks about ready to blow, so Madge keeps him in line with a hand on his chest. She doesn't take her eyes off of Peeta, though. "Who told you all of this?"

Peeta's hands find his curls and he tugs lightly. There's stubborn bravado, but also vulnerability in his voice; he wants to believe he knows the truth because the alternative is anathema. "I have it on good authority."

Annie pulls her hand away from Finn and approaches Peeta slowly, like she would a hurt animal. Her voice is infinitely gentle when she asks, "Who told you?"

That's when I realize that Annie knows, or at least suspects. I mentally scan the list of those most likely to hurt him. Peeta wouldn't be dumb enough to believe the hell spawn who bore him, and no one else would tell tales like that. Except…maybe…

Peeta tugs his hair harder as his eyes lock desperately onto Annie's. He whispers, "He wouldn't lie."

I suddenly want to vomit. There's only one person, besides Katniss, who could hurt Peeta like that. Up 'til now, Peeta's done nothing but look up to him and defend his complicity in the damage that Mrs. Mellark's wrought. And Peeta might be protesting, but his eyes fill with tears as Annie folds him into a hug and rocks with him. He knows. And I'm afraid that it will be the thing that drives him over the edge forever. "What did your dad say, exactly?"

Peeta sniffs from Annie's shoulder then wipes his eyes. "He told me that Gale and Katniss were together every Saturday. That they would come into the bakery at odd hours." To Madge he says pointedly, "Together. Just the two of them."

Katniss breaks the silence that follows. "That's all true. But we weren't _together_. Gale was helping me out at Haymitch's, and we would stop by the bakery for hot chocolate in the morning."

Peeta's eyes go so wide that I can see the whites from where I sit before his eyes tear up again. Clearly, he doesn't believe her. "At five in the morning? Looking like you just woke up?"

Gale steps forward to crowd Peeta's personal space. It's a bold move, one Peeta doesn't expect. "Yeah. We would get there at first light, have some hot tea and maybe a Danish. It's not like she was trying to impress me or anything: you know Katniss doesn't make an effort for anyone but you. I'm sure she pretty much rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans."

"I can confirm that," Madge says quietly. "She slept over my house a few times during break and that about sums up her morning routine. We talked about you most of the time. So I don't get where this is coming from-"

Peeta recoils as if struck and shakes his head. "My dad said-"

Gale's eyes turn stormy and he runs his hands through his thick, dark hair, trying to understand. "Why would we lie? Why would we come here at all? We would have just stayed away, if that were the case."

We're _all_ trying to understand.

I can't take watching Peeta's pain, so I focus on Gale for a second. "Gale's right. Relish those words, because you'll never hear them again," I say to him when his brows rise in surprise. I turn to Peeta. "He has nothing to gain and everything to lose. Think about it: both Madge and Katniss are here. Does Madge seem like she's one to share? No. So, unless Katniss is suddenly into kinky threesomes, there's no way that Gale would come out a victor. Maybe your dad didn't know what he was insinuating. But I think you have to ask yourself who has the most to gain from driving a wedge between you and your friends." I soften my voice. "Your dad already knows Katniss is a soft spot for you. Maybe he felt like making it seem as if she had moved on would force you to run as far from her as possible."

"No. My dad loves me. He wouldn't want me to go home if that wasn't what I wanted. "

It breaks my heart a little that he doesn't mention his mother, but I understand it. What I don't understand is how he doesn't see that his father isn't the saint Peeta thinks he is. At the bare minimum, the guy is guilty of not giving Peeta nearly enough credit. At worst, he enabled the witch's abuse. Personally, I think he should have been locked up alongside his wife so a pack of rabid, hungry mutts could feast on their asses. But I'm learning that life isn't always as black and white as I see it.

I continue softly, "He does, Peeta. But sometimes loving someone means you hurt them even if you think you're doing the right thing. He thought you had nowhere else to go."

Peeta shoulders slump. "I don't even know what to believe anymore. How do I tell what's real?"

Again, it surprises me when Gale steps up to the plate. "Just ask us when something's confusing. We'll all help."

Annie and I nod, as do Madge and Finn. Katniss stares at Peeta like he's the sunrise. Gale thrusts out his hand and Peeta shakes it tentatively.

It's a start.

-o—

Katniss and Peeta begin to grow back together. It's slow, especially with Peeta still talking to his parents. Gale and Annie lead the way to undo the regular damage the Mellarks do to his psyche. What pushes Peeta to keep working after some of those phone calls is anyone's guess. Maybe the guy is too stubborn to quit. Maybe he still has something to prove. Whatever it is, it bothers my roommate.

She slams into our dorm room looking flustered and upset on one of the rare nights that I'm planning on sleeping in my own bed and not at Annie's. She dumps her bag onto the desk and lets out a huff.

"What's up?" She jumps practically out of her skin, not used to having someone in her space. I let out a whistle as she whirls around to face me. "You look great."

She does: she's wearing a coral sundress and high-heeled sandals she must have borrowed from Madge, her hair is loose around her shoulders, and I think I actually see make up.

"Ah, thanks. Haymitch is in town and he took Peeta and me to dinner."

"Nice." I chew a bite of a microwave OREO s'more. "So why are you pissed?"

"I'm not pissed."

"Uh huh. And I'm not horny. We know that's not true, since it's been so long since I've nailed something that anything phallic makes me whisper 'Feed me, Seymour.' So what's got you upset?" When she still doesn't budge, I resort to bribery and wave my paper plate. "I have marshmallows, chocolate, and peanut butter cups…You know you want one."

Katniss laughs and flops down on the bed. She looks appalled as I hand over a gooey bit of heaven, and make sure to warn her that the marshmallow may burn the skin of her palate clear off. She succumbs to the lure like it's a British archvillain and she's a damsel in distress. By the time she's finished with her first cookie, she's ready to talk. "Peeta doesn't want me."

I almost choke. Safety tip number two: don't try to pass marshmallow out your nose. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugs and tries to wipe the stickiness from her fingers. Did I forget to tell her that she'll need boiling water or acid to get rid of that residue? My bad. I pass her another gooey mess.

She stares at it for a second before huffing. "He won't touch me. Like, no hand-holding, no kissing. Nothing!"

"And you're missing the Le Peen de Pain, eh?" I drop the fake French accent and try to channel my inner Obi-Wan, the voice that's kept me from jumping on just any random guy. "It's going to take time for him to trust that you care for him."

"Now you sound just like Haymitch. Give it time, he says. But I wasn't the one who wanted to break up before Christmas! Why can't Peeta just listen to me?"

I chew for a minute. "Because you're such a great talker, right?" I'm rewarded with a scorching look. "Seriously, the guy probably thinks he's protecting you."

"From what?"

"His mother. His mess. His life is a wreck, according to him. And you're…not. You're too important to him to be part of it. He doesn't want you to see him floundering."

"So I'm supposed to just let him push me away?"

I think back to Finn and Annie - how there's a way to be quietly supportive without forcing the confrontation. "I think you have to show him you're in it for the long haul. What would Peeta do if the situation were reversed?"

She looks for a second like she wants to touch her hair but thinks better of it. "Haymitch said exactly the same thing at dinner when Peeta used the restroom. Sometimes it frightens me how alike you guys are." She thinks about the question for a minute to two. "Peeta would let me know he was there for me. He'd be supportive. But he would respect my boundaries."

I pop a piece of chocolate into my mouth and offer her one. "There's your answer, Brainless."

She stares at the chocolate sightlessly. "I don't like that answer."

I crumble my paper plate and chuck it at the trashcan, then take the chocolate from her limp fingers and pop it in my mouth. "Yeah, I figured. None of us do. But this is Peeta's show: if he's going to feel like he's succeeding, it has to be on his terms. So no touching. No PDA. No kissing." I grimace and wonder if my dry spell is rubbing off, because that sounds like hell.

She lets out a long breath. "Until when?"

I give her the only answer I have. "Until you know the time is right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're not quite done yet!...there's a little bit more to tell. Are you still with me?
> 
> Finn's poem for Annie is "If you Forget Me" by Pablo Neruda. (poemhunter dot com)
> 
> Peeta's space is based roughly on the interior of the New Children's Museum of San Diego (thinkcreateplay dot org.) It's a neat-looking structure, both inside and out.


	42. Victory

I'm pretty sure it starts as a joke: one night, Tigris and Cinna start talking about how each of us would look in a portrait. It's hard to hear them over the sound of the band that's taken to showing up on Friday nights – along with most of the frat guys and a good number of sorority girls despite the No-Penetration Proclamation – but they're using enough hand gestures that I get a vague idea. Peeta joins in with some pencils and paper plates, and we're all doodling as if we're playing drunken Pictionary. Mine are stick figures, but Tigris, Cinna, and Peeta actually have drawings that resemble humans.

I should know that no paper-plate doodle gets left behind. So, imagine my surprise when we walk into Peeta's place on Katniss's birthday and he greets us at the door with a smile a mile wide. It barely registers that this is the happiest I've seen him in, like, ever. I'm not in the mood: Tyrell is keeping me at ten hours per week for the summer, rather than the forty I asked for, and the geeks were in rare form today. They had a raging debate about whether Matt Smith or David Tennant was a better Dr. Who, and I had to calm one of them down after he freaked out that the coffee service changed from Sumatra to Viennese roast. Yeah. Major first-world problems.

"Nice to see you looking so chipper, Brainless. We've got a lot about the website to go over, and I have an initial assessment of the stability of Cinna's arch bridge idea for traversing The Pit."

Speaking of the devil, I spy him in the band area, singing to Lenny Kravitz's "It Ain't Over 'til It's Over". I wave because, although he's not Kravitz-hot, I'd still pick him as the tight end in my fantasy fuckball league.

Peeta's voice pulls me back to the conversation and his grin gets wider, if that's possible. "I've got something to show you guys, too." He gestures behind him to the wall next to the elevator, which is now painted in giant squares that look like paint samples, in a range from scarlet to midnight green. "We've added a little color, but that's not all."

The space looks more intimate and whimsical with color. Less like a prison. Peeta walks until he can feel us all stop short in front of a ten-foot-tall wall drawing of Finn. The artist must have seen the photo spread of Finn and his dad where they were both wearing fishing nets and not much else. It's big. And mostly nude. Like, if Michelangelo were an Odair groupie, this is how he would have painted him.

Finn assesses it carefully, after recovering from the shock. "Well, I think the artist really captured my charm, don't you?"

I snort, holding back a grin. "Is that what you call it?" I may not be in a great mood, but this is so over-the-top that it definitely earns a smile.

Peeta points at the careful drape of the net. "I'm just glad that they didn't embellish anything."

Finn holds a hand over his heart. "No embellishment necessary, my friend."

It's Annie's turn to snort. "Tigris must really have a thing for you."

Peeta laughs. With a twinkle in his eye that hasn't been there in ages, he says, "Good call, Annie. I knew you'd figure the artist out right away. You guys ready to see the rest of them?"

I cock an eyebrow. "The rest of them?"

Peeta shrugs. "You guys check them out while I go glaze the Bananas Foster cinnamon rolls." Walking backward, he gestures to what can only be called a gallery. if I thought Finn's likeness was both misguided and well-executed, I'm speechless at what I see next.

Each of us is depicted in an homage to a different master: I'm in a dark toga and look like something from Rubens; Katniss wears white in a style that combines the light of Degas and the amazing skin tones of Vermeer. Personally I think Annie's likeness, which sits gracefully at the edge of a Monetesque ocean and wears an ephemeral green, suits her. Tigris must have loved the idea of weapons as well, or maybe she was practicing mixing metal colors, or maybe she just thinks I'm a bitch. Whatever the reasons, Katniss, Finn, and I all sport kick-ass armaments. At the other extreme, Peeta sits on a throne watching all of us with such a sad, earnest look on his Raphaelite likeness that it gives me the shivers.

Katniss points to my portrait with a grin. "It's sweet that she gave you an ax. She must really like you."

I shrug. "Well, it is L.A. She probably thought having a way to defend ourselves was a requirement. What did she give Annie? Pepper spray?" I smirk at Katniss's likeness. Somehow, I don't think that either Degas or Vermeer ever painted a bow and quiver on their canvases. It's hilarious yet horrifying to see how brutal Tigris has made us look, like we don't take any shit from anyone. "I bet she has no idea how good you are with that bow, either."

I stride into the kitchen and point in the vicinity of Peeta's immortalization. "You don't get creeped out by this, Peet? It doesn't even look like you." I glance, again, at the picture of Peeta.

Peeta smiles as he kneads something on the floured stainless steel island. A rack of cinnamon rolls sits on the Formica, fragrantly mouth-watering. "It doesn't? Huh." He shrugs before adding, "It's a little disconcerting, sure."

I get lost for a second in the rhythmic motion of his muscular shoulders, especially as they strain against his black t-shirt. It's hypnotizing, really, watching Peeta's intensity as he cranks out baked goods like a Terminator T-1000. He has this vitality and intensity I'm not sure was there…before. If it was, I certainly didn't notice it. It's like how, between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, Luke Skywalker gets hot. And that's when it dawns on me that Peeta's actually in his element baking for a hundred people. Our paltry Tuesday dinners were him scaling down and holding back. This— _this_ is what he was made for. He doesn't just survive here. He thrives.

Finn and Annie walk in, hands clasped tight, and the spell breaks. Finn claps Peeta on the shoulder. "I think you look fabulous. She's got you in a white and gold turtleneck underneath a white sport coat. Not very many men can pull that off, trust me."

Peeta laughs a deep belly laugh I thought was gone forever. As I look back for Katniss, I realize that the space closest to the kitchen looks totally different. It's now a rich eggplant color with accents of black, gold, and silver. Where before it was a wide-open space, there are now booths instead of the old trestle table. Each booth displays a number ranging from one to thirteen done up in gold paint, fake jewels, natural materials, whatever.

Peeta's eyes track mine, even though he doesn't pause in his masturbaking. Hey, the guy is really pounding one out like he means it, okay? I'm amazed that he's not breathless when he explains, "Octavia's uncle is remodeling his restaurant and gave us the old booths. We put the trestle table in The Pit so people who help out during the day can eat down there if they want."

Annie stares in wonder. "When did you do all of this? Did you sleep at all this weekend?"

"Cinna put it all together. He had a bunch of friends graduating this weekend and they wanted to have a party here. So I let them use the space and chipped in a little beer…this is what happened."

Clearly, drunk art students vomit glitter.

Katniss walks toward us and runs a finger along the number twelve. It's sparkly and silvery-black. "How come they're numbered?"

"Cinna's got thirteen artists who are going to each adopt a booth for a month. It's like an art installation that changes over time. Isn't that cool?" Peeta's obviously getting a kick out of all of this, which makes sense. I'll bet his Technicolor yawns sparkle at least a little.

"Isn't thirteen an unlucky number?" Annie chimes in.

I can't help but think of everything Peeta's sacrificed to get his smile back, so I say, "Fuck luck. We make our own."

Peeta nods and beams, wiping dough off of his forearms. He's antsy as a little kid at Disneyland. "Wait until you see upstairs."

We hoof it after the big oaf as he stomps up the stairs. Finally, he ushers us into his loft living space. Again, we're all amazed: Cinna has transformed it from a concrete cell to something not just livable, but downright comfy. The kitchen is still concrete, but stainless shelving breaks up the space and reflects the light. The spartan surfaces contrast with warm wood in the butcher-block island and bar stools, the glass-covered wooden door dining table, and end tables made from stained crates. Twin Chinese-red enamel cabinets separate the dining area from two couches and a wing back chair. The wear shows through the enamel in a couple of spots, somehow contributing to the urban-rustic-shabby-chic vibe. Color is everywhere: nuclear-sunset orange-red and deep moss throw pillows and area rugs break up metal and wood neutrals. The artwork is obviously Peeta's, especially the group of four oils of hibiscus blossoms on the wall that separates the entry from a small room that's been divided into a half-bath and pantry.

Peeta takes us on a tour through the rest of place. We pass the dining and seating areas and a gigantic, free-standing shelving unit that divides Peeta's bedroom from the rest. He's got a bed set on a platform, covered in a white-on-white coverlet and enough throw pillows to satisfy even Madge. A huge canvas behind it sports a gray field, interrupted in the extreme right foreground by a light and fluffy sphere. It looks like…something. Something I should recognize. What the hell is it? Instead, I focus on the giving Peeta the pat on the back he deserves.

"Peeta, holy fucking shit. It's a pussy palace!" I gasp as I take it all in. It's only missing a full bar, some shag carpeting, and maybe a disco ball to complete the seduction scenario. Katniss shoots me a deadly look. Of course, I ignore it. "I'm serious. You get anyone alone up here and she'll cream all over that pretty comforter like an over-filled éclair." I waggle my eyebrows suggestively in a way that makes Peeta go pink clear to the tips of his ears.

"Uh, thanks." He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. "You guys like it?"

I snort. "Like it? Cinna's a genius. And I'm not just saying that because he's smoking-hot."

He turns to my roommate, who's holding onto her braid for dear life. "Katniss? What about you? Do you like it?" Something about the way he asks, with just a hint of shy, sweet breathlessness, tells me her opinion matters more than most. Perhaps he's finally warming up to the idea of Katniss taking a bite of his boule?

We know she's already fallen prey to his Jedi mind tricks. And that clingy black t-shirt Peeta's wearing isn't hurting, either. It's pretty obvious that she's afraid of opening up to him again—that two-handed grip on her braid conveys her total lack of approachability. That is not the pose of a girl who is going to do what the Nine Inch Nails song says and get "Closer." If anything, she looks like she wants to run into his newly finished bathroom and be sick right next to his vintage claw-foot tub.

She nods and clears her throat. "Yeah, it's great. Jo's right: it's going to really pay off for you when it comes to the ladies."

Aw, fuck. That is not the way to get back into his bed, Brainless. I get that she's confused by his behavior. So am I. One minute, they're learning all about each other like it's a brand new relationship, the next, he's shutting her out. The _next,_ he's showing her the etchings in his bedroom, and that's not a euphemism. It's mind-boggling that the guy can switch gears so fast. But right now she's got a guest pass to his den of iniquity and I can't believe she's just going to throw her hands up in surrender. It's her choice, though. When she stalks past me without another word, I don't stop her.

But Peeta's not letting her go so easily. He swallows nervously, and opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he blurts, "Katniss, I haven't forgotten about the bread." Peeta waits as she stops short, then continues, "I remember you, hungry. Looking desperate and a little defiant. You were so small and I had to do something…" His voice deepens. "Me, giving you my allowance. Telling my mother I dropped the money inside the store and her smacking me for being so stupid. Watching you leave the store with a bag of food. And you… I think you picked a dandelion."

She shrugs and releases the death-grip on her braid. "My dad used to tell us to blow the puffs and make a wish. I thought that it couldn't hurt."

His voice is quiet when he asks, "What did you wish for?"

There's a pause, like Katniss can't quite come to grips with telling him something so personal. Finally, she turns and faces him. Squaring her shoulders, she says, "That your mother wouldn't hurt you anymore."

Peeta nods and bows his head. I take the silence as my cue to sneak out of the room, but can't help pausing just outside just in case Katniss needs reinforcements.

His voice gets closer, like he's right behind her. "I remember thinking that she couldn't stop me from helping you, and how good it felt to know I was doing something good for someone. I didn't feel stupid or clumsy, or like any of the other names she called me that day. It was like she couldn't touch me. You made me feel that way. I think that's why I couldn't turn away Wiress and Beetee, or Chaff, or anyone else who showed up here months ago. The same goes for Tuesday night dinners. They felt good in the same way. And they were one more thing she couldn't take from me."

There's a pause. I'm sure it's because Katniss is grappling, just like I am, with the revelation that Tuesday dinners came from somewhere so deeply rooted in Peeta. Some desire to serve and to be found worthy that is somehow also wrapped up in Katniss and their history. Did he start it purposefully? Or did it just feel right as it evolved, like he was satisfying some necessary part of himself by providing sustenance to us all?

As I'm fixated on the idea of Peeta using us to combat all the psychological damage his mother's inflicted, Finn and Annie wander over wearing matching curious expressions. I hush them both and point at the bedroom. Finn looks like he wants to tug me away from the immensely personal conversation Katniss and Peeta are having. But fuck that…Katniss might need me. Or Peeta. Or I might miss a juicy tidbit. Either way, I'm not moving, so I shoot him a dirty look and wave him off to let him know that my feet are planted for the duration.

I almost miss it as it is when Peeta practically whispers, "Back before…I must have loved you a lot."

 _Ouch_. Ok. Maybe he's still douchey Peeta, after all. I can just imagine her reaching for her braid again.

Katniss doesn't hesitate to answer, "You did." No pity there. No denial. Just bald acknowledgement of the facts.

Another pause. What the fuck is he doing? Because yeah, alright, he fucking fed us. And he's saving the fucking world, one hungry homeless person at a time. He's damaged, I get it. Really. But where does he get off making my roommate feel like shit? Finn's got a dark look I recognize so well: he wants to storm in there and punch Peeta as much as I do for being such a bastard. Annie's cool hands on our arms stop us, though. Her quirky smile is mysterious, like she knows what's coming. Like maybe she helped him get up the courage to ask it.

Peeta's voice is low and dark as a moonless, smoggy L.A. night. "And you? Did _you_ love _me_?"

"Everyone says I did."

There's the belligerent Katniss I know so well. Annie's smile slips a bit. What did she expect? Katniss to just fall all over herself and admit that she's loved the big doofus for years? Duh. This is _Katniss._ She'd rather kill it than hug it.

Peeta's not giving up, though. He's not going to let Katniss dodge the most important question he's ever asked. There's just the tiniest bit of hope in his voice when he repeats, "Everyone?"

Subtle. _Come on, Katniss. Take the fucking hint and admit that you love him already!_ I don't realize that I'm gripping Annie's hand so hard she winces. What I really want to do is bang my forehead against the concrete.

"Everyone," Katniss agrees.

There must be some visual cue we can't see, because Peeta lets the subject drop. It sounds like he's moving away from her, over toward the huge windows covered by sheer curtains that diffuse the coral, peach, amber and fushia of the sunset.

Katniss asks out of nowhere, "Do those windows open?" His expression must register shock or surprise at the weird segue, because she explains, "You like to sleep with the windows open. I just thought…well…no matter how great this place is, it would be horrible if you couldn't sleep the way you like."

Katniss is the one who breaks the silence that follows. "Do you remember saying you had a lot of words –I'm sure they're not very kind - to describe me? Well, I have a lot of words to describe you, too." She walks toward him. "Your favorite color is orange. Sunset orange. You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces. Look, I know that you don't trust me fully yet. But…but I _know_ you, Peeta. I do. And I'm going to help you through this any way I can. That wish I made when I was a kid? It's so much stronger now. And I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe. That's what you and I do, Peeta. Keep each other safe."

Finn and I look at each other in a panic when we realize her footsteps are coming toward us. Finn dives for the couch. Annie – moving faster than I've ever seen her - rushes to the small bathroom. I'm the one left out in the open looking like a total snoop. I drop to the floor next to a crate and pretend to be examining the stain. Really, the grain of the wood is quite fascinating up close.

I'm sure it doesn't fool Katniss, especially when she whisks her braid over her shoulder and glares at me. "I'm going downstairs. Are you coming?"

-o—

We find we have a visitor when we get downstairs. Just seeing Effie in our little concrete purgatory makes me do a double-take. But it's really her, trilling at Peeta and waving a hankie that exactly matches her severely tailored ecru Feragamo suit. Who knew they even _made_ hankies anymore? She's clutching a Burberry portfolio bag that I'll bet costs more than a year's tuition. Her only visible jewelry is the pin Katniss wore for luck last year, and a pair of dime-sized, bezel-set stud earrings that I'm willing to bet are brown diamonds. And her shoes? To say I covet the faux snakeskin sandals she's wearing is too mild a phrase.

"Yoo-hoo! Peeta!"

As if we don't see her in all her expensive glory and immediately recognize that there's no way she can make it across The Pit wearing a skirt that tight and heels that tall.

"Effie! I wasn't expecting you! Why don't you come on around back?" Peeta must agree with my assessment of the odds of her breaking a leg—or her neck.

By the time she's gone the long way around, we're all hanging out in the kitchen waiting for them both. Plus, I'm hungry. I know…shocking, right? I'm a firm believer in the phrase "ask for forgiveness, not permission", so I'm already taking gloriously sweet and slightly boozy bites of Peeta's Bananas Foster cinnamon rolls. They're just warm enough that the cream cheese glaze has a hard shell but is gooey underneath, while the dough melts in my mouth. I can't help but moan a tiny bit. "Annie, Katniss, you guys have got to try these."

Peeta doesn't seem to approve of my pilfering. "Johanna, get your hands off my buns." To Effie he says, "Would you care to sit down?"

Effie sits as daintily as she can at the edge of a booth. Even that has to be tough with a skirt that tight. "Oh, children, it's so good to see you all. And you're looking so well." She emphasizes the last word as if she expected us to wither away in the year it's been since our clan kicked ass at the Highland Games. "Peeta, I've brought you the paperwork you need to make the brewery official. I'm afraid I hadn't realized, though, the scope of your project."

I look around the place as I suck Foster sauce off my fingers. I can see how she might think it's a little bigger than a couple of tanks and a camp stove. Hell, it's a little bigger than the frat house Peeta came from. It's probably not out of the realm of possibility to say that it's more than the bakery back home, too.

Effie tuts as she pulls a leather portfolio out of her bag. "This will, of course, require a completely different project plan, a new set of permits and inspections. I wonder if I could have a food critic come by. Just imagine the write-ups and the advertising. And of course we'll need exterior signage." She pulls out a gold fountain pen and, with a flourish, makes notes in a moleskin notebook.

Peeta runs his hands through his hair. "Effie, slow down. What are you talking about?" He looks as lost as I feel. The faces of the rest of my compadres reflect the same confusion. Well, all except Cinna, who's joined us and is too hot to ever look confused.

She hands Peeta a packet of documents without a pause in her flowing script.

"I can handle the signage," Cinna says. When Effie cocks an eyebrow at him, he introduces himself with a small bow. "Cinna."

She eyes him. Like probably every other woman who's ever met him, she approves of his aesthetic. She smiles and nods in his direction before turning to Peeta. "Haymitch, bless his little heart, didn't say a thing about you opening a _restaurant_. All he talked about was the brewery. So, of course I didn't know to grease certain _other wheels_ for the correct paperwork—"

"Whoa! I am not running a restaurant!" Peeta physically recoils at the idea. Of course, he says this as he stands in front of a tray of four-dozen cinnamon rolls. And those are next to an equal number of cheese buns. And those are…you get the idea.

I examine my nails. "Well, you do feed people, Brainless."

"But not for money! There's not even a menu!"

"What's that, then?" Annie points at the wall opposite the door that proudly proclaims tonight to be "Meatloaf Madness".

Peeta shakes his head and looks from one face to the next. We're all nodding encouragingly. "But, it's not a restaurant."

"Club then." Cinna shrugs. We all seem to get that we're just splitting hairs. Well, all of us but Peeta.

Effie looks briefly flummoxed. "We'll need a name, children! A name absolutely _makes_ the restaur—club."

I'm almost afraid to speak up, especially when Peeta sends a dirty look my way when I clear my throat. Good thing that I'm not one to let a little fear stop me. "We have a space on our website already. It's a hidden page so people can see what bands are going to be here. Peet was toying with putting beer and menu selections up."

Effie stares at me like I have just given her the secret to younger skin. "Well, Johanna? What is the hidden page named?"

"It's…uh… just the address. 451."

"451. I love it. It's not a restaurant, it's not a club. It's something that defies description." Effie looks to Peeta, then to Cinna, her jazz hands still dangling in the air.

Peeta mutters. "It's more like it'd need to defy the odds."

"Attitude." Effie's razor-sharp voice cuts to Peeta, even as she caps her pen and gathers her portfolio. When she has all of her stuff together and back in her gazillion-dollar bag, she turns to us. "I am so proud of you all. And there's still so much to do! I'll be in touch with more information." She blows an air kiss to Peeta, and hands a card to Cinna. "And you, young man, are just amazing. Call me and we can discuss design ideas over lunch."

She's gone with a wave of her beringed hand and a waft of expensive perfume, leaving me wondering why I didn't think of a line like that. Then I remember that I don't have earrings that are worth more than the gross domestic product of a small country, so it probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

I pop another bite of banana-rama-awesomeness into my mouth and gird myself for the battles ahead. Oh, it's not just Effie we're going to have to deal with. If we want to do this, we're going to have to hunker down and get to work. No more play time. Like it or not, we're in this for real.

-o—

Summer hits. Katniss stays in L.A. to help with what she and Peeta call "Operation Effie." We all agree that leaving the urban rebellion feel to the place is a must, but there's a ton of decisions to be made beyond that: kid's menu or not (no), choice of dishes for dinner (not to start), buffet or served (served), cover for live performances (maybe later), and whether lunch is served at all. Peeta is adamant that anyone who shows up hungry eats, even if they have no money. _Especially_ if they have no money. He's so insistent that the rest of us stop trying to show him what lousy business sense it is for him to serve the homeless and regular people the same food at the same tables. Annie argues that they'll be spectacles and it's not fair to them to make them a freak-show. Peeta insists that it's about dignity. Everyone deserves to be fed good food, and he's able to provide it.

I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who catches his heavy gaze on Katniss during a lot of the debates.

Katniss, for her part, chips in and is surprisingly good at bartering. She and Gale snag a bunch of fresh salmon one day in exchange for some beer, and Peeta pairs it with an apricot chipotle sauce, wild rice, and green beans that Annie talked a food co-op into parting with. It's to die for. Another day, Annie gets a lead on some organic game hens that a restaurant couldn't pay for. We get them for a fraction of the price, and Peeta fills them with an orange sauce and roasts them to a golden brown. The result is a crispy, slightly salty-skinned bird with flesh that melts in your mouth and the flavor of sweet oranges in every bite. Even Effie can't stop talking about it, and she never eats, like, anything.

A completed bridge across The Pit and an external marquee are baseline requirements before we can have what Effie calls the "Grand Opening." Peeta hates the term. He just keeps mumbling about how it's all about feeding good food to good people. I personally don't think that he truly gets that we're in downtown L.A—good people aren't exactly what this city is known for.

My nightmares come back. Well, it's not like they've ever been completely gone, but it seems like I chase Carys and Brue through darkness nightly. I'm always chasing. I can hear Dr. A. telling me that it's because I want something out of reach or have left something unresolved. No shit, Sherlock. Carys and Brue are impossible dreams, and I deal in reality. So I do what I do best: hunker down and go full-throttle after something I want. And what I want is to work—really work—for Tyrell.

So while Peeta spends his summer chained to the kitchen and trying to heal through formulating menus and baking like a madman, I hone the pitch that is going to land me a job. I don't think I've ever worked so hard on anything. I feel like I've really got a good story put together by the end of August, and ask Angus if he'd be willing to critique. He does and it's not pretty. Be concise, he tells me. Keep to the facts. Don't be afraid to be relentless. Above all, sell! sell! sell! Sell what I've brought to the team that only I can provide. By the time our meeting is finished, Angus has me half-convinced that the success of the Nexus 6 project is due to my talent for memorizing how everyone in the office prefers their coffee and then executing to that spec.

They all take it black, by the way, unless you count Marketing. They like their lattes over in Marketing.

It's September by the time I actually get a meeting with someone who could make a hiring decision. When I find out that it coincides with Effie's big, big, big grand opening, I take it as a good sign. After all, there's no way that karma isn't going to make good things happen for Peeta. No way does he get fucked at this point. And I'm sure some of those odds will rub off on me. Right? I'm a good person. I deserve good things.

Right?

-o—

Tyrell himself shows up at the meeting, like he can't wait to watch me trot out the dog-and-pony show of how I'm an S-U-C-C-E-S-S. He sits at the end of the conference table, silent the whole presentation. When I'm through, he takes off his glasses. Rubbing them slowly, so that we can hear the squeak of the cloth against the glass, he takes his sweet-ass time considering what I've said, before putting them back on.

And then he flashes me that fucking supercilious smile that gives me the creeps. "That was quite an impressive presentation, Johanna."

I smile my perfect, one hundred watt smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"Clearly, you're over-qualified for your current position. Wouldn't you agree?"

I don't see anything wrong with agreeing. I can practically hear Angus in my head, telling me to go after it. "Yes. I can offer the team talents beyond—"

He holds up a single, well-manicured finger to stop me. "Yet that is the position we have available."

I suck in a breath. Even though I had prepared for this eventuality, it hurts that Tyrell might think so little of me that he's not willing to give an inch. I refuse to back down or show weakness when I say, "Human Resources confirms that we have three positions open for junior engineer. I'm a good fit for any of those positions."

Tyrell raises an eyebrow. "I beg to differ. Reports from your supervisor show easy mastery of the work, but a poor fit for the team. You're abrasive. Argumentative. All of our junior positions require the candidate to understand their place at Tyrell, particularly when it comes to design decisions. Those decisions are made above that pay grade and need to be executed flawlessly for the future of the Nexus program to be assured. Instead, you waste countless hours debating those very decisions. It saps creative inertia from the team and slows their progress." He pauses for a moment, probably to take a breath. Or maybe it's so I can apply pressure to the gaping chest wound he's left behind. "Now, we were thinking that it would take another semester or two to season you properly. But, since you seem so… dissatisfied… with all that Tyrell has done for you…"

Never mind the chest-wound. My stomach swoops to my feet. I wonder if he can hear it land there and flop around like a fish. "I'm not unhappy here, sir. I just know that I can do more."

"Mmm." Tyrell stands and walks to the door. "Ms. Mason, perhaps you should best consider a position where you can work alone, rather than in a collaborative work environment like ours. I understand several of our competitors work that way." He looks back at me one more time with that creepy smile still in place. "Human Resources will help you gather your things. Good day."

And that's when I get it: I didn't just lose a full-time position. I've lost my internship. For good.

I look down at where my hand clutches the front of my generic white blouse, fully expecting to see my heart exposed to open air. Tyrell thinks I'm so useless that he's urging me to look at the competition? And I'm not a team player? Who the fuck does he think he is? People _like_ me! Tyrell engineers like… well, okay. They don't really like me badgering them with questions, or telling them what I think are better ways to do their work. But Tyrell has no idea what Johanna Mason is capable of. I can't wait to show him what a mistake he's made.

And I will. Right after I go home, lick my wounds, and find another job.

-o-

I get to Peeta's early, stopping outside the door for a minute to pull myself out of my festering depression to admire what Cinna must think constitutes signage—a large golden circle on the side of the building, maybe ten feet in diameter, bisected by a bird clutching an arrow. There's no name anywhere. No other identifying mark. If I didn't know what it was for, I'd think it was graffiti.

"What's with the paint job?" I ask the first person I see when I get inside. It's Nuts, so I don't really expect an answer.

"Ask the Painted Lady." She points to Effie, who's barking out orders at a host of college kids and L.A. natives alike. Yeah, that's the new thing we're supposed to call people like Chaff, Nuts, and Volts. Effie says that calling them homeless might scare away other patrons. Nuts helpfully adds her own color to the scene when she mumbles, "Tick, tock, tick, tock."

"Yeah, thanks Nuts. I get that the opening is tonight."

Katniss spies me just at that moment, thank God. Because I don't want to admit how familiar – and how welcome – the singing voice drifting to me from the other half of the room is. If that's who I think it is, this day has gone from horrible to soul-eating-zombies-couldn't-make-it-worse. So, I ignore it and focus on my roommate.

Of course, she asks about the meeting I'm trying like hell to forget. "You're early? How'd it go?"

"Don't ask. What's going on? And what's with the Raven graffiti outside?""

Katniss shakes her head. "Effie has these crazy expectations. We've had four meltdowns this afternoon." She ticks them off on her fingers. "She yelled at Wiress for dropping something. Now all the poor woman can do is mumble 'tick, tock'. Beetee's in hiding because Effie tripped over him as he was plugging in a set of twinkle lights he had placed around the menu. Annie and Finn are both ready to kill her over a disagreement on whether Sam can stay upstairs at Peeta's with Mags, the babysitter for the night. And Brue's trying to get his keyboard stuff set up, but she keeps telling him he's being too loud. I don't get it. It's not like we haven't done this all summer."

"I heard that, young lady!" Effie points her gold fountain pen at Katniss like a scourge.

Katniss scowls her way, then turns back to me. She must see me wincing over the fact that Brue is, indeed, here and waves her hand in my direction. "Anyway, Cinna said he wanted some sort of distinctive symbol that evoked a visceral reaction." She puts finger quotes around that, like she can't understand Cinna's inner artist. I shrug because I don't really understand it either, but I'd like to. Preferably by a laying on of hands below the waist. I have to shake myself away from the mental image in order to bring myself back to Katniss saying, "Effie, on the other hand, wanted a stylized hobo cat. I thought the two were going to come to blows. But he took one look at that pin she wears, and that was it."

The magnitude of the shitstorm Katniss just described is epic. "Wow. Guess we should be grateful that Cinna didn't paint it in gang colors to get back at her. I wish I'd been here to see it. Where's Peeta?" I don't see our blond, tormented leader anywhere.

"He said he wanted to call his dad, for luck."

I look at her as if she's lost the little sense God gave her. "What? And you let him? Brainless, have you forgotten how we have to rescue him from a downward spiral every time he talks to his parents?" Okay, so it's mostly Annie doing the rescuing. But that doesn't stop me from glaring at her, grabbing her hand, and dragging her behind me. "Come on. Let's find him and see what the fallout is from this latest bout of sadomasochism."

-o—

It's not a good scene when we find Peeta on the old-fashioned, corded wall phone in the kitchen. He's pacing, trying to get a word in edgewise, and basically just being whipped and beaten.

"Mom, I wanted to talk to Dad. Yes, I realize it's your house too, but why do you have to listen in on our phone conversation? He's not a criminal." There's a squawk on the other end of the line as she yells something and then hangs up. Peeta seems to instantly lighten up and I can't help but think that's dangerous. There is no relaxing when you're talking to demons from hell.

"Dad, yeah. Things are going well…" Peeta rambles on about the opening and every little mundane detail. It's clear from what I hear on our end that Peeta's nervous. And it escalates as his dad does that thing that drives me crazy: he sounds like he's being helpful and supportive, but he's really making Peeta feel like total crap.

"Yeah, I checked ingredient inventory and tested the recipes. It's more like catering, so it's making stuff in small batch—no, I don't think it's going to get cold or taste like crap. Yes, it's all fresh…" Peeta defends as best he can. He's patient, but his face is all blotchy in a way that makes me seriously question whether he has a sexy "O" face, and his hands are clenched into fists. So much for the uber-supportive father Peeta was hoping for. "I know you want what's best for me. It _is_ a lot. I have help. No, they're not professionals–Dad, this isn't the blind leading the blind. Well, okay, maybe it is. But we're going to do something really different here. Will you please just listen to me?"

I can't take any more of this horrible conversation. Especially because, from the sound of it already, Peeta's going to need all available reinforcements. So I walk out to the entry area, put my fingers to my lips, and let out an ear-splitting wolf-whistle meant to summon Annie. Since both she and Finn look over the third-floor balcony wall, I motion them downstairs. I wonder what she sees on my face that she comes running.

Peeta's no better when we return. He's blocked out the rest of the room and huddles in a corner trying to take up the smallest amount of space possible. He seems lost in continuously winding the phone cord around his wrist, unwinding it, and rewinding it. His dad does all the talking, while the rest of us file into the kitchen until we're all bearing witness: Madge and Gale, Brue, Annie and Finn, Katniss. Peeta puts up with another minute or two of whatever it is his dad says to wear him down before I'm pretty sure he's going to erupt into sobs like he normally does. Heck, the trembling's visible from twenty feet away. Instead, he struggles to his feet like Frankenstein's monster on a bender. His face is such a mottled red that I worry for his blood pressure, when he says in this weird, papery-thin voice that sounds nothing like the Peeta I know, "You've never once stuck up for me, or believed in me. Not once. You say it's all about protecting me. It's a little late for that, Dad. Did it ever dawn on you that you should have done that when I lived at home? Or that I don't need protecting here? That I can make mistakes, recover from them, and be okay?"

Peeta lets his father answer, building potential energy all the while, until he erupts. Food sprays across the room as he flings one of the stainless work tables over onto its side. "This isn't _all in my head._ Not the way Mother treats us, and not the fact that you _let her._ Why is that, Dad? And don't deny it."

His chest heaves. Whatever line Mr. Mellark spews to calm him down, it doesn't work. A stainless steel mixing bowl – not even empty – crashes against the wall, splattering yellow batter across it like a head shot in the Zapruder film. Next to me, a tremor runs through Katniss and Annie lays a gentle hand on her arm.

"No, I will not calm down. I've been calm my whole life, making excuses for you and for her. You want to know the stupid part? I _believed you_ when you made me feel broken. You never once said that the problem was with her. It was like we just needed to stay and take it and there was no other option. And somehow, in my head, that got translated into the fact that _I was responsible_. That I deserved to be treated like that. _Because you_ _never once said otherwise – not to her, and not to me._ " A knife clatters to the floor. A water bottle ricochets off the cabinets, against the wall, and lands against his foot. He kicks it again and again until it stops, huddled and damaged, beneath the cabinet. He stares after it.

When he speaks next, we barely hear him. "I'm done being a victim. I'm never going to come back, crying to you, so you can feel vindicated that you did something to help me. Because. You. _Never._ Did. I was a _child_ ," his voice cracks, "And you should have kept her from hitting me." He flings the handset against the wall and stands in the middle of his ruined kitchen, head in his hands, vibrating with rage from head to toe.

We're fucked. Peeta's as lost to us as if he had gotten on that plane in December. We're two hours from show time, surrounded by rubble, with a leader who's finally cracked from the psychological warfare he's been exposed to his whole life.

No one makes a sound until Katniss pulls away from Annie's restraining hand and stalks toward him. She's pretty ballsy walking up behind him like that when he looks like he's gonna go all Incredible Hulk. It's practically suicide! She reaches out and grabs his wrists, hard, then tugs him toward her and kisses him full on the mouth. There's no softness, no Nicholas Sparks in this kiss. No pity. This is all adrenaline, anger, desperation, even grief. This is Katniss trying to bring him back to himself. Back to her.

His trembling intensifies. For a minute, I'm worried that he actually is going to hurt her. That we'll end up calling L.A.P.D. and the night will end with a flashing light bar and two bored actor-wannabes cuffing my friend. Katniss doesn't let go of her grip on his wrists, though. It seems to ground him somehow.

Just as Peeta closes his eyes and leans in, she pulls away, clenching his wrists in fists so tight her knuckles blanche white. "Don't let him take you from me," she says, quietly. Urgently.

Peeta's eyes pop open. He looks as wrecked as his kitchen. "No, I can't-"

I've got to give it to her: Katniss doesn't ease up. She never breaks eye contact. If anything, she leans in and shackles his arms harder in her grip. I'm sure she's leaving little nail marks, and not in a good way. I barely hear her when she insists, "Stay with me."

Peeta quiets as if those words unlock something deep inside him. His trembling stops, his fists unclench. He leans his forehead against hers with a sigh, closes his eyes, and says, "Always."

We're all not sure what to do next: it's like watching British porn, where you're sure they're gonna get down to it: take off all that tweed and wool and get nasty, only to have someone decide they'd like a nice cup of tea. Should we group hug? Shake it off? Make a joke? Leave them to their tender moment?

Effie decides it when she walks into the room and stops short, her perfect manicure gripping the front ruffles of her orange dress. "Peet—Oh my goodness. What happened in here? Was there an earthquake?"

I think it's Gale who chuckles first, but we all pretty much join in—even Peeta, after a minute. Katniss smiles at him like he just got off an aircraft carrier after a year-long deployment and slides her palms to his. She holds tight, even when he turns to face Effie.

"It wasn't an earthquake. What can I do for you?" He nods at the guy I don't recognize who's standing next to Effie, dressed just as brightly as she is, except in teal. In fact, I can't look at the two of them standing together for too long without feeling like I'm watching a Miami Vice reunion.

Effie flutters her hand, a sure sign she's freaking out. "This is Mr. Flickerman. I believe I told you that he was coming by before tonight. He's the food critic for L.A. Magazine."

I want to vomit right on top of the shrapnel all over the kitchen. Brue must see it on my face, because he frowns and shakes his head. Yeah, I get it. Don't ruin it for Peeta. Except that I don't see how I'm going to _ruin it_ when it looks like a scene from _Platoon_ in here.

Finn's the first to recover. I have to believe that it's some of his newly acquired theatrical training, or maybe he's running on pure fear of failure like the rest of us. He crosses to our guest. "Ah, Mr. Flickerman! May I call you Caesar? You've stumbled upon one of our art installations. We call it 'Famine Amidst Plenty.' We consider it a critique of the resources that surround some of us while others have nothing."

Effie looks at Finn like he has two heads. Thankfully, Mr. Flickerman – Caesar – does not. "Finnick Odair? I didn't realize you had a hand in 451."

Finn coughs humbly. "Well, it's a joint venture. Perhaps you also recognize Brue MacLeod? He'll be performing tonight."

Caesar bats his eyelashes, which are as fake as Effie's, as he shakes Brue's hand. "I had no idea this was such a star-studded event. Frankly, when Effie called me and asked me to do her a favor, I expected a mediocre experience at best."

"Oh, we're never mediocre," Finn laughs charmingly. He's got Caesar eating out of the palm of his hand, especially when he cups the older man's elbow and guides him toward the atrium. "Let's go find Cinna, our creative genius. He can explain the art installations in detail. I'm sure you'll want to highlight everything that makes 451 unique."

We all exhale a collective breath as Finn's voice fades and we're left standing in the ruins of tonight's dinner.

Effie pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment before she closes her eyes. "Children, I'm not going to ask what happened here. Now, let us take a moment to close our eyes and visualize tonight's success."

We stare at her.

She keeps her eyes shut. "I can hear you all breathing. Shut your eyes. Visualize. I'm going to count to thirty. On thirty, we are going to our open our eyes and do whatever needs to be done to make that success happen. One…"

Brue must not care about the wrath of Effie, because he crosses to stand next to me. I can't help but get a dig in. "Nice of you to join us for the festivities, MacLeod."

He shoots me a smooth smile. "No problem. I heard Tuesday dinners were on with a twist." He doesn't miss a beat before he leans closer and asks, "How'd today go?"

Fucking Angus must have told him about my meeting. Dammit. I'd almost forgotten about the disaster that happened before this one. The good news is that I can ignore his question, as the rest of the crew takes his movement as a cue to gather closer.

Madge looks around at our little huddle. "We need to divide up the work if we want to have a prayer tonight."

She's not wrong: we could show Tyrell, Peeta's Dad, _everyone_ that we're victors. We just have to apply ourselves. My jaw clenches, I square my shoulders, and, with one eye on Effie to make sure she's still counting, mumble to Gale, "You and Madge are on food duty. Get Peeta whatever he needs. I don't care how."

"On it," Gale responds.

To Brue, I order, "You're going to play upbeat stuff that keeps everyone busy until Peeta's ready to serve."

"Upbeat?"

"Yeah. Play Richard Marx, Billy Ray Cyrus, or Burt Bacharach for all I care. Just keep them smiling. Our target audience is practically our parents, so your last lame-ass album should be perfect." I smile sweetly at him for a second, but it's all I can spare because Effie's closing in on twenty-five. I turn to Annie. "You've got Peeta?"

She nods. "And Finn will keep Caesar busy."

"…Thirty! There! We're going to be a smashing success." Effie takes a deep breath and plasters a fake smile on her face before whirling around and exiting the kitchen.

I wince and look around, cataloging what I'll need to do to clean up the mess. "Smashing? She had to say smashing, right?" But I square my shoulders because we're not going down without a fight. We've got it in us to pull this out, so we've got to try.

That's all we can do: try.

-o—

Dinner is not a total tragedy. That's good, right? Gale and Madge borrow or steal some prawns, and Peeta serves them grilled with cayenne and paprika over a bed of quinoa, acorn squash, and zucchini tossed in a basil-lime dressing. It's funny how the time crunch makes Peeta's focus sharper—he creates something that can be served warm or cold, and it goes amazingly well with his IPA and First Round Draft. The compliments roll in after the first bites. He doesn't scrimp on dessert, either. Sure, he has to trash whatever idea he had before the phone call that he hasn't acknowledged, but he ends up taking the grilled theme further: he makes s'mores brownies and serves them warm.

Cinna stations some of the artists around the room to schmooze and provide a little context for the booths they've adopted, as well as the other installations around the room. Another bonus of our ad hoc menu is that it can be eaten standing up. As a result, people get up from their tables, walk around, and really get a feel for how the place is more like happy hour at an art gallery than your typical restaurant.

Effie seems happy.

There's so much running around for the three hours that dinner service runs that I barely have time to call dibs on the leftover brownies. My feet hurt, and one of my eyes won't stop watering from where I seem to have gotten cayenne in it. It registers that Brue must be playing the piano I hear in the background, but I don't focus on any one song until Effie releases me from my efforts as server right before the end of our dinner hours. I've just snagged a brownie from the back and am ready to dive into it when I actually hear him singing something that breaks through the stress and exhaustion-induced fog.

Not in a good way.

I'm transported immediately back to my parents' kitchen, Dad spinning me around as he croons Billy Joel and makes pizza. It's like a punch in the gut: I can smell the crust baking, the flour clinging to his tomato sauce-dotted apron, his aftershave. When he leans his cheek against mine, I swear I can feel his five-o-clock shadow. My eyes tear up and I'm glad that no one can see me. I'm pathetic. I'm a failure. I'm _homesick_. Except that home doesn't really exist, does it? And even if it did, I can't go back. Distance and time and stubbornness have created a void that can't be wished away. All I can do is hold on, listen, and clean up the pieces, like in Peeta's kitchen earlier today.

The last few chords end and I hear him plunking around a bit while he talks to someone and I try to get my girly-tears under control. Maybe a minute later, he and Katniss start a funky duet of _Mockingbird_. At least, I think that's the name of the old James Taylor and Carly Simon song. It doesn't surprise me that Katniss knows it – the Everdeen household still has a turntable that works. Did I know that Brue was a former member of the Columbia House Record Club?

They sound pretty good together. I missed that, in their earlier recording debacle, how seamlessly their voices meld and weave. I'm queasy enough at the thought that I put down the remnants of my brownie, which is pretty fucking extreme. I mean, my own _dad_ didn't make me put down the brownie. And then it hits me.

I'm jealous.

I lay a hand over my tummy and rub, because I refuse to allow that magnificent chocolate s'mores brownie to make a reappearance tonight. The minute I stop fighting the realization that I hate hearing Katniss and Brue together, my stomach settles. But it means my head takes off at a million miles a minute. Gentle as butterfly wings, my thoughts settle on the possibility that I pushed Brue away, not because he didn't keep his promise to me, but because I didn't think I was good enough for him. Every love story has an unhappy ending eventually, right? I was so afraid of Brue seeing that Katniss—or any other girl—could give him more than I ever could, that I used the first available excuse to punish him and push him away.

Is that…the truth?

It feels like truth.

I slide down the concrete wall to lean my head on my bent knees.

"Jo?" Finn's voice, laced with concern, penetrates the fog. I hope he doesn't step on the brownie. "Are you ok?"

I shake my head, knowing it's no use lying. I feel like I'm about to rip apart at the seams and I don't want to have to give explanations or laugh it off. I definitely don't want to hear Finn's play-by-play psychoanalysis of everything that's wrong in my life, now that he's got his shit together.

Instead, he settles next to me and slides an arm around my shoulders. We sit in silence for a long time, Finn's arm around me, holding me together.


	43. Desperate Times

"I can't believe I turned him down. What was I fucking _thinking?_ " I bash my head on the table for emphasis. I'm sitting in my booth at Peeta's—lucky number seven—which is done up with feathers and pinecones and branches and shit so it looks like a tree. A fucking tree. What is it with me and trees? Even the upholstery is this textured, brown pleather that looks like tree bark. All I want, given the lousy mood I'm in, is to take an ax to it and chop the whole thing down before I drown my sorrows in more of Peeta's apple boysenberry crumb cake. I'm sure there's leftovers stashed somewhere because Peeta's figured out by now how much he hates running out of stuff.

It's Parent's Weekend. Or, it would be, if Peeta hadn't been chased out of school. And since I'm still not really talking to my parents, and Madge's Dad couldn't make it out this year, I'm steering clear of the knot of geriatrics who are fangirling over Cinna's latest art installments and Brue's piano-playing.

Ugh. I can hear Effie and Angus from all the way across the room. I'm not sure what's worse: her tittering in a range that small dogs can hear or his booming laugh that would shake the rafters if Peeta's weren't made of steel girders.

Madge slides into my booth and rubs my back for a second. "You were probably thinking that you didn't want to play Russian roulette with your 'O', that's what."

I shrug off her hand before I glare at her. "Unless you brought more of Peeta's apple boysenberry crumb cake with you, you can just take those adorable little ankle boots and walk on by."

Madge holds out an ankle carefully, like she's considering the idea. Or the boots. "They are cute, aren't they? Too bad these boots aren't made for walkin'."

I roll my eyes at both her reference and her rhetorical question: she knows the boots are cute. Just like she knows the leggings she's wearing with little snowflakes and stripes all over them pair well with the chunky sweater and flannel shirt she's got on under it. The whole outfit makes her look as wholesome and adorable as a marshmallow snowman in a cup of hot cocoa. I just raise an eyebrow in her direction.

She levels me with that cool blue stare that must she must have perfected on dozens of nubile, service-oriented young men who did her bidding before Gale. "Why don't you just go talk to him? You know you want to."

"I do not want to." I drop my face back to the table. It still smells faintly of the savory-spiced lamb stew over Mediterranean couscous Peeta served tonight. I idly wonder if there's any crumbs from the cake left, and if it's worth a lick or two to check.

"Why is Jo sulking?" Katniss slides in next to Madge.

"I'm right here. And I'm not sulking."

Madge ignores me. "She turned a guy down for a hookup because she secretly wants to bone Brue. She won't admit it, and she's too chicken to go over there and talk to him. That about sum it up?"

I kick her under the table, but my foot hit's Katniss instead. I'm not even sorry, because she probably can't feel a thing in the weathered boots she's had since freshman year.

"Ouch! That hurt! You want me to get his attention?"

I peek up at Katniss, who's pulled out a slingshot and has it aimed at Brue. I know what a crack shot she is, so I grab at it before she can do something stupid that requires a call to 9-1-1. "Jesus, Brainless! No! I do not want you to shoot him." I mumble something about my luck being so bad that she'd probably put an eye out.

"Why are we huddled over here?" Of course, Annie joins us next. I swear, it's like these three are the Witches of Eastwick.

Madge ticks off on her fingers what's going down, including the fact that Katniss almost took off Brue's head with a dried garbanzo bean. Annie makes some sympathetic noises, but I barely pay attention. Because, with these three at my table, it's not long before we're joined by—

"Why's everyone here instead of mingling with the high-rollers in the other room? I hear Peeta's trying to butter them up for more capital."

Fucking Gale. Of course he couldn't be far from Madge. The leash and collar might be invisible, but it's still there all the same. I kick Madge under the table in case she's tempted to repeat her litany of charges against me. Not only does she ignore me, but she kicks me back as she recites them. Gale laughs when she gets to the part about Katniss and the slingshot.

Bloodthirsty bastard.

We reach critical mass as a party: Finn and Peeta join us while Gale gets over the chuckles. I glare at each of them in turn. "Did someone bring me more dessert? Because, if not, there's no room at this table."

"Sure there is." Finn slides in next to Annie. To prove his point, he scoops her up and settles her on his lap.

I roll my eyes. "You guys are disgusting. Look at all of you, so blissfully happy that my teeth fucking ache. Gale, you're so whipped I can see the marks from here. Why don't you just give it up already and succumb to married bliss like Finn? He and Annie are joined at the hip, like, all the time. And Peeta…let's just say that culinary and cunnilingus might as well have the same word root. But I'm the one who has to sit here and watch all of you put the cunt in contentment. Then, to add insult to injury, Madge wants me to go over and talk to Michael Buble."

"None of us even know who that is, Jo." Madge gets up to join Gale. She's probably right, but I don't even have a chance of getting a word in edgewise before she examines his back. "Not a mark in sight, by the way. I'd never be that crude."

Gale grins wolfishly. "It's not for lack of me wanting you to leave some, though. I'd love it if you staked your claim." He pauses for a second, as if gathering courage, which is ridiculous. The guy has more balls than a McDonald's PlayPlace ball pit. He'd have to, in order to let Madge put them in a vice the way she does. "What do you say to Jo's other idea, though? Would you be up for making it official, Princess? After graduation, of course."

Madge looks thunderstruck. "Gale Hawthorne, are you asking me to marry you?"

He shrugs and looks away. "More like asking if you're open to me asking."

I make a gagging noise as Madge grabs him by the shirt and kisses him. Hard. Seriously? Someone give the guy some testosterone! I'm in the minority, though, because Finn takes hold of Annie's hand and kisses her knuckles. "Speaking of weddings…Annie and I were thinking of getting married."

My head pops up. "Excuse me, Brainless. You're _already_ married. Or did you forget?"

Annie doesn't look away from Finn's tender smile. "He means remarried. We want to renew our vows. We're thinking of a beach wedding, at sunset. Maybe this spring."

Immediately, Madge gushes about how awesome and romantic that is. I can't help but glance at the geriatric fan club, though. Finn's dad is over there, smiling and yucking it up with Angus and Haymitch. I have to wonder if this was his idea, another way to get some publicity in a way that will be good for his career.

"Annie, that's an amazing idea," Peeta chimes in. They're talking cakes and meal options and flowers before you can say "paparazzi magnet". Even Katniss joins in, giving opinions on menus that Peeta's used in the past. It's a good thing she's got them memorized. I can't help but think that, for everyone at the table, this is how it's meant to be. They all would have ended up together, anyway. Next thing you know, we'll be talking mortgages and tax savings, then investments and vacations, then how to get more fiber in our diets. I look around the table and append hair replacement therapy to the list of gross things I don't want to think about. Gale won't need it, but the jury's still out on Peeta and Finn. Scratch that. Peeta would go scalp-commando, throw on a dark turtleneck and rock that look like Steve from the Jerry Springer show. It'll be Finn who does plugs and that horrible, spray on hair.

I'm not ready for any of that. Not yet.

So I do the only thing I can think of it do to combat the vibe: I stand on the table and belt out a verse of Fun's "We Are Young". Brue doesn't seem to notice, nor does the crew that's hovered over there _already_ talking about investments and fiber. Finally, one by one, my friends stop talking and I can hop down. "Are you all done talking about old-people shit? Because I'd like to know how we jumped from talking about how I can't get laid, to ensuring that none of you ever get laid again." Madge opens her mouth to rebut, but I hold up my hand to stop her. "Spare me the description of your pussy pyrotechnics: studies show that married Americans have sex two times a week, on average. Is that what you want?"

Gale gives Madge's mouth a lingering, practically pornographic look before shifting his gaze to me. "Well, that will still be two to three times a week more than you're getting it."

"Gale, you are totally an ass—"

"Peeta!" Two happy voices calling out interrupt the beginning of my forceful tirade. There's a bunch of high-pitched giggling, then a bouncy blonde girl—all curves and no brakes—hurtles herself at Peeta. To his credit, he doesn't fall over when, two seconds later, a guy who looks a lot like him follows her example and comes in to complete the group hug. "Delly? Rye?" He sounds stunned.

I'm surprised poor Peeta can identify his assailants, let alone breathe under all that wriggling flesh. And there is _a lot_ of wriggling flesh. Delly is sporting a cropped, v-neck t-shirt that is so tight she probably doesn't even need the Wonderbra she's wearing to keep her girls strapped down. And her short, pleated skirt and thigh high white socks certainly draw the attention of the male half of the room. She looks like a lush Catholic school girl with those flaxen curls, guileless blue eyes, creamy skin, and curves, curves, curves. And Rye doesn't seem to care that she's wrapped around Peeta. Unlike Katniss, whose spine is so straight she could shoot it with her bow and kill something.

And that's when it hits me. Katniss still isn't over Delly and The-Great-Blowjob-Misunderstanding. And Rye… Rye is Peeta's older brother. If I recall correctly from my summer in Fairfield, he's Peeta's _friendly_ older brother.

Now that they're both a little older, resemblance is uncanny, at least at first. It's not until I really get a close look that I realize that Rye is like Peeta's porny doppleganger: hot in his own way, but a little bit looser than Peeta in the cut of his jaw, the muscles of his chest, even his ass. Don't get me wrong, I'd tap Rye in a hot second. But it's mostly because he wears sexy like he was born to it, rather than Peeta, who forged his sexy through the fires of hard work, misery, and the self-confidence that comes out the other side.

Peeta introduces all of us to the couple. Most of us have met them, but Annie and Finn haven't had the pleasure. Delly hugs each of us in turn, which amuses everyone but Katniss, who tries to stay as far away from her plump breasts as possible. I'm too busy laughing out loud at her to notice that Delly and Rye take up spots on either side of me.

"What are you guys doing here?" Peeta looks happily from one to the other.

Rye shrugs. "Dad thought it was time for someone to check out what was really going on out here. We've been hearing all sorts of shit." His eyes shift to Haymitch standing by Brue's keyboard and talking with Angus before he looks back at Peeta. "He says you can come home anytime, by the way."

Peeta's already shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm good here." I'm not sure if he even realizes it, but he pulls Katniss closer to him on the bench seat and drops a kiss on her temple before sliding out of the booth entirely. "Let me get you guys something eat. If you just got to L.A., you must be hungry."

"S'alright, little brother. We've been in town a couple of days already. Had to check out the nightlife, right? I'd love a beer, though. Del?"

"Yeah," Delly practically bounces off the bench seat. "A beer would be great. Or something stronger, if you have it." She giggles a little-girl, breathy giggle that has Rye grinning like a proud porn-star papa and Katniss scowling.

While Peeta rushes off to get drinks for them—and hopefully remembers to bring me some cake—Rye slides an arm along the back of the booth. "So, where's your date?" He leans toward me, not knowing what a sore spot my single status is.

"Oh, she doesn't have one," Gale's happy to answer for me. "She's free as a bird, our Jo."

Speaking of birds, I flip him one with a sarcastic smile. "Fuck you, Gale."

"You wish." He smiles back.

Fuck-nugget.

Delly drops a hand to my thigh and squeezes. "It's alright. Being single is great, right Rye? All that freedom to do whatever you want." She squeezes again, then leaves her hand there, on my inner thigh. Rye nods and smiles at her in an indulgent way just as Peeta gets back with beers and snacks.

"I say they both have their advantages. Embrace your options." Rye winks. I'm just not sure if it's at Delly or at me.

Pushing his beer toward me, Rye asks if I'll keep an eye on Delly while he has a word or two with Peeta. So, when she shotguns hers and shimmies toward the music, I do the same. Rye joins us two or three songs later with more beers and the three of us toast and drink. By the third round, I don't even care that Brue's playing the music we're dancing to. I'm buzzed, I'm grinding with a hot guy and a hot girl who are both into me, and I'm loving the fact that there are hands everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Delly's as soft as she looks, and she smells like beer and bubblegum lip gloss. Rye, on the other hand, is hard in all the right places.

I don't even know what to think when Madge joins us on the dance floor. She, Delly, and I grind away like a pillow fight waiting to happen. Come to think of it, if Madge was wearing all black and higher boots, and Delly was in a Wonder Woman costume, this would totally be a fantasy of mine.

Looking around the room at the guys staring, I'm not the only one. That's especially true when Delly swings around so her back is to me, grabs my hands and glides them up to her breasts with an exaggerated shudder that has her blonde curls bouncing in my face. "I'm so cold!"

I'm not. I've got a fistful of Delly and Madge is riding my back close enough that I can feel her body heat. I'm pretty surprised Gale hasn't freaked out by now. Then again, I'm sure he's not immune to the "girl threesome" fantasy. For all I know, he's choking the chicken in the men's room as we speak. Given that rubbing one out doesn't violate Peeta's "No-Lowering-Your-Fly Zone", I'm bummed that the thought hasn't occurred to me before. I generally like a little more ambiance and romance for self-love, though, but it's nice to know that it's an option.

Madge's leans close enough that her breath stirs the sensitive skin of my neck. "Are you too drunk to think clearly right now? Because I'm not sure you've ever been interested in batting for the other team, and I want to make sure you know what you're doing and stay safe."

"Maybe a little switch-hitting is what I need to get back in the game," I say belligerently, pissed that she's considering getting in the way of my "double-the-fun" possibilities. I decide I need to use the restroom after all, so I throw off her hands weave away. I'm stopped, of course, by Madge's other half. But not her better one.

Gale goes to grab my hand as I saunter by, but I dodge him. "Hey, can I talk to you?"

"Heading to the restroom." I point to the door like he's an idiot. Hey, if the shoe fits…

He scowls. "I'll wait."

"Suit yourself." I shrug. Once I hit the stalls, though, I can't settle into any fantasy that will get the job done. I curse Gale for being able to cock block even when I'm alone. He and Madge are like a mental chastity belt. As a result, I'm even more pissed coming out than I was on the way in.

"What the fuck do you want?" I demand the minute he waylays me coming out the restroom door.

"I want to know what you think you're doing."

"Nothing, yet. But if you'd let me get back to it, I might actually get laid tonight."

Gale shakes his head. "Come on, Jo. This isn't you."

"Why, because it's a threesome? Because he's a Mellark? You get that my vag is more of a timeshare than a cohabitation arrangement? There's no _Property of Peen Reflexivity_." At his blank look, I expound, "TDMA versus CDMA? I swear, it's like I'm surrounded by technical idiots." I sigh and try again. "Just because you and I fucked and I'm going to fuck him, doesn't mean your dick is tainted by Mellark jizz in any way."

"That's not it, and you know it. I don't care if you bang a giraffe at the L.A. Zoo. I'm telling you right now, though, he's not your type."

My eyes flit over to where Rye and Delly are grinding on the dance floor and I shrug. "He's got a dick, ergo, he's my type. And if Delly joins in, I might have to expand my acceptable parameters."

He rolls his eyes. "He's not your type, trust me. He's a pretty boy who's had everything handed to him. Take a look: you can see it in his face. Jesus, he didn't even hit on you himself: he had his fiancée reel you in. Does that sound like a guy who's worth you? You're better than that."

"So this _is_ about you and your problem with Peeta being from a rich family."

Gale runs his hands through his hair, which falls right back into place as if it doesn't dare disobey him. "No. Look. I know that when I first got to know Peeta, I might have thought that. But Peeta's a good guy. He works hard, he's good to his friends. He has integrity. And he would never act like his brother. Just watch him for a little while before you make up your mind. Don't think with your little head." He taps me on the forehead for good measure before he holds up his hands in surrender. "That's all I wanted to say."

I watch him walk back to Madge, who's talking to Angus and Elizabeth instead of hanging out on the dance floor with Delly McHandsy and Middle Mellark. Peeta joins them for a minute. Angus claps him on the back heartily and laughs about something before Peeta breaks off to bring another beer to his brother, who doesn't even say thank you before taking drink. Sure, Delly does it for him, but I see what Gale meant: Rye assumes everything will fall in place. Peeta doesn't. Peeta's not a waiter, but Rye just treated him like the hired help. Even the way he dances has Delly doing most of the work. Suddenly, I can picture it: Delly and I servicing him while he just lays back and has a good time.

Do I really want to get with that, even if it's a two-for-one deal?

I'm most of the way to a "hell-no-thank you" when he and Delly break off from the dance floor crowd and approach me. Rye has hope written across his face. "Hey. So, Del and I were going to head back to our hotel."

"We were wondering if you wanted to join us?" I'm no longer sure if it's her exuberance that has her cutting in or if she even has to do the actual propositioning for him.

Without warning, Brue strides over to join our little group. "She's staying here."

I think my eyebrows just flew into orbit. "I'm sorry? I think I just heard you try to speak for me." I can't even process that he's standing across from me, looking like he wants to deck someone. Suddenly, I hear The Rolling Stones' "Beast of Burden" blare over the speakers. I turn to check out who's in charge of the tunes and gape. "And you left _Haymitch_ as a guest DJ? Are you crazy? If he spins 'Turn the Page', I'm leaving."

"I had to make sure you're okay. Plus, I hid all the Bob Seger and Joe Cocker."

At least he hasn't lost the little sense he has left. Haymitch, plus alcohol, means sixties hard rock flashback. "I'm fine." I reiterate. I don't get why the whole world is suddenly interested in my welfare.

"Good. Then you're staying? I'll make sure you get home." He nods like it's all decided.

Rye doesn't take too kindly to Brue horning in on his fun. "Who are you, Nick Jonas?"

I snort loudly, because that would be pretty funny if I had said it. Or if Brue were even remotely jealous, instead of this being some sort of misplaced protective instinct.

Finn joins our group, all the other guys trailing behind. "No. Brue's a good friend. And we all care about Jo, here. We just want to make sure she's taken care of."

"Yeah," Gale adds, crossing his arms in front of him. And now I feel like a really big dog bone being fought over at the dog park, or like everyone might erupt into spontaneous jazz hands while singing something from West Side Story.

I interject on my own behalf, "Guys, I didn't open this up for internet voting. I'm the one who gets to decide if Rye and Delly get a rose at the end of the night."

Rye smirks. "If she wants to come with us, she should. The invitation's still open."

"We'll make sure she's taken care of and has a good time," Delly adds helpfully.

Finn raises an eyebrow, but Brue's the one who steps toward Rye and says, "That's not your job. It's ours."

I don't recall ever seeing his so puffed up. I'd be honored, if this wasn't such utter bullshit. But it is Peeta's place and I don't want a fight to break out, especially with a lot of Peeta's money guys in the room. Playing with the stereo is only going to hold Haymitch's interest for so long. So I hold up my hands and insinuate myself between Brue and Rye. "Whoa! Whoa! Hammer, don't hurt 'em! Rye, Delly, thanks for the offer. Maybe another time?" To Brue, I turn and grind out, "I'd like a word with you. Alone."

I hear Rye and Delly say goodbye to everyone else as I stride to the stairs and the second-floor storage room.

By the time we're inside, I'm seething. "How dare you cock block my night? You haven't spoken to me in _months_ and then you just step in like you own me?"

"I'm not the one who stopped talking. In case you've forgotten, you're the one who decided that we were done talking." He's breathing hard, and his cheeks sport two round blotches of color. He's pissed. Really pissed. Gone is the quiet, polite guy I dated.

Good.

"So you have something to say to me? Go ahead. Obviously, you've been holding this is for a while. And since we're not doing this ever again, you may as well get it off your chest." I make a grand, sweeping gesture to the floor, like I'm allowing him to have his say.

He's quiet for a minute. I let him gather his thoughts while I study how the overhead light sparks golden and bronze glints in his dark curls. His hands curl into fists and he licks his lips, then dives right in. "You had no right to just shut me out like that. We could have talked our way through it. If you had cared for me at all, you would have heard me out."

A sound between a gasp, a laugh and a howl threatens to escape me and I bite down hard enough to taste blood to stop it. "Hear you out? What was there to hear, Brue? You weren't telling me what was really going on. You never told me that you got in touch with Katniss, never admitted that maybe you were mishandling things. Don't you dare put this all on me. I did what I needed to do. I cut my losses."

"You prioritized your friendship with Katniss over _us_. Is that it? Or did you just go into hiding at the first sign of trouble?"

Did he just call me a coward? My vision goes red at the edges. "Of course I put Katniss ahead of you. 'Chicks before dicks', and all that. You were just a sport-fuck." The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. They're not true, not even a little. I want to hurt him, though. Slice at him with words the way his silence cut me to the bone this summer.

His eyes widen at the direct hit for a second before his gaze travels over me. He must see something in the taut set of my shoulders, or the way my feet are planted wide apart in a boxer's stance, or the fact that my breath comes in gasps and my racing pulse is visible at my throat. I'm spoiling for a fight, and he knows it. Which is why I'm stunned when he walks closer, backing me into the wall, snugging his body up against mine.

His voice is low in my ear, tantalizing. After so many months of being alone, it's my undoing. "No, Jo, it wasn't. Not ever." One hand cups my chin and raises my face to his until he can see my eyes.

I'm not sure which of us moves first. My hands fist in the crisp curls of his hair, his slide underneath my flannel shirt to glide along the camisole I wear underneath. His lips don't devour, they coax; they don't dominate, they devastate with gentle tenderness. Here, in a storeroom that smells like beer, cleaning supplies, and a little bit like cinnamon, I can finally admit to myself how very right it is to have him there next to me. His hands warm my skin, reacquainting themselves with every spot he knows I like, inches he knows by heart.

The searing pain of it wars with the warmth of his hands against my skin. I come effortlessly, shaking and shuddering, wedged in between a pallet of water bottles and stacks of paper towels.

Catching my breath, I tug his polo free from his jeans and skim my nails up his spine, uncaring if I hurt him. I nip at his bottom lip when he keeps the pace more leisurely than I would like. I don't want exploration and the fake promise of a warm reunion: I want lightning and thunder and fire that leave nothing but barren wasteland in their wake. Like me. But he doesn't give it to me.

Instead, he laughs, a rumble against my lips. "I want to take my time, Jo. I want you below me, above me, spread wide for me while I lose myself inside you for hours on end. Is that your definition of sport-fuck? Because it's not mine. Even that first time, in the frat house bathroom, it meant something to me."

My heart twists and gives me extra strength. Either that or he isn't expecting me to swing him around as hard as I do – hard enough that his back scrapes the wall, hard. He sucks in a breath of surprise and hurt.

 _Good_. _We're on the same page, now._ I hold his gaze while I shove his shirt up his chest, beyond caring if I'm too rough. When I feel the odd stubble where his chest hair should be, I kiss him one last time on the lips and then drop to my knees to nip a path down his chest.

"Jo? Jo, what are you—" He trails off when I pop the button on his jeans before easing his boxer briefs downward and taking him in my mouth. I'm not gentle, but he doesn't seem to mind: he grabs at my hand on his chest and weaves his our fingers together. I can feel the rapid tattoo of his heart under my palm. I want to memorize the feel of him, his taste, and the slightly chemical smell he gets from his time in the pool. Most of all, I want to remember how it feels to be connected to him. So I tug his hand to the back of my neck while I take as much of him into my mouth as I can.

"God, Jo. Your mouth…I could spend forever learning all about your warm, soft mouth." He groans. He lifts the hair off the nape of my neck, then brushes it down flat again carefully, as if he isn't sure what to do with his hands. "I love watch watching you do this. Do you have any idea what you look like when you're with me? You trust me not to hurt you. And you give so much. I can't believe you're like this with anyone else."

It's taken me four years to get used to the things Brue says when we are skin to skin. I want to cry at the intensity of his rough voice egging me on. Instead, I grab his hips hard enough to leave a bruise, bringing him more fully into my mouth. I add suction, then ease back until I judge by the uncoordinated movement of his hips and the tug of his hands on the nape of my neck that I've found a rhythm he likes. I steal a look upward and wish I could remember this moment forever: Brue's watching me intently, hair mingling with the shadows against the gray wall. His muscles are taut and strain toward me, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his tan skin. His eyes meet mine for long moment. I wonder if he sees desire or desperation on my face. Whatever it is, his hand flexes and suddenly he's tugging me upward, spinning me until I'm the one pinned against cold concrete.

His kiss is gentle with just enough rough passion to make me glad he's holding me up. "I want you. Do you want this?" I know he's trying to disprove that we're a sport-fuck. That's why this isn't a quickie. He's underlining that we seduce each other, and that's not a sport-fuck activity.

But it is. It has to be.

I just stare at him and he growls while his hands pause at the button of my jeans. "Say yes, damn it. Say yes. Say you want me."

There is no use in lying, so I nod. He breathes against my lips, gently sucking on them while his fingers slide my zipper open and push my pants down my thighs. His hands are everywhere: between my legs where I'm hopelessly soaked, tugging at my camisole. He touches me with one hand while retrieving a condom from a pocket of the jeans tangled around my ankles—I should be surprised that he assumed I had one, but I'm not—before he lifts me clear out of my jeans and suddenly thrusts inside me. I ignore the bump of hard, unforgiving wall against my back as I scramble for more leverage and a better angle. His mouth finds my breast and tugs warmly on it while his arm loops under a leg, spreading me wider.

"You're so wet." He mumbles it against my breast, but I hear it all the same. "And soft. I'm always amazing at how soft your skin is. I could lick you all day."

He does just that while even more moisture pool between my legs. I shift my leg higher against his arm and grind against him on the down stroke, helping him find that spot inside me that has my back arching and fingers flexing into his shoulders.

"Yes, Jo," he echoes. "Do you feel that?" He punctuates his words with a deeper thrust. My hips slide against his like they were meant for this and only this.

He kisses me deeply and whispers against my lips. "I dream about you like this. Wrapped around me and warm. Wide open, just for me. "

I can't help it. I clamp down on him tightly as I come again and he groans, sliding his fingers through my wetness and heightening the sensation. The earth could stop turning right now and it wouldn't matter. Nothing will matter, after this. So I take in as much as I can of his skin with smell of chlorine lingering like an aftertaste, his crisp curls against my shoulder, and the taste of his tongue as we kiss. I take it all in and I give him everything I have in return.

-o—

Brue rubs his hands through his hair as he gets dressed, probably because I've been silent since my legs slipped from around his hips. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

I nod. I know he doesn't mean it as an insult—we both really go out of hand—but I'm afraid I'll do something dumb, like cry. I tug on my jeans and rearrange my shirt. It's a hopeless endeavor. One look at me, and everyone downstairs is going to know what we were doing up here for however-long we've been gone. I laugh for a second at the image that pops to mind of Peeta's disapproving. "Peeta's going to be pissed. He's told me in no uncertain terms 'No fucking'."

Brue frowns, blue eyes watchful. "That's not what this was."

"It's not? We didn't fuck? Because it sure felt like your dick was inside me a minute or two ago. Or is that a new handshake you're learning as state champions for the water polo team?" I spy my keys and reach down to grab them before heading for the door.

He stops me with a hand on the elbow. "We still need to talk."

My throat closes up until I can barely spit out, "Closure's overrated."

His hand drops like he just scalded it. "Closure? Is that what you want?"

"This was a good-bye fuck, right? The bang that happens when you want to get someone out of your system?"

"Not for me." His voice is soft, pleading. It slices right through me.

"We could fix this, Jo."

My throat closes for a second in utter panic. "I can't."

I leave him there. The last thing I see is his frown as the door closes and I walk away.

I make it back to my dorm room in one piece. I change and brush my teeth, then stare at my silent cell phone perversely waiting for a text that doesn't come.

I didn't mean _I can't._ What I should have said was _I don't know how_.

Maybe I'm a lot like Rye Mellark: so used to things coming easily that I take everything for granted. My friendships, my major, my job, even the sports I choose are things where I don't face obstacles. I think again of Rye versus Peeta. Do I really want to be that guy? The one who everyone loves to party with but knows he has no depth? The one whose significant other has to do the heavy lifting? Maybe Brue was right and I ran at the first sign of trouble instead of downshifting for the climb uphill.

I flop back on my bed, realizing that I have no idea how to change this. So I stare up at the ceiling and realize some else: the panic I felt tonight when I left Brue is the same one I feel in my dreams when I can't find him. Except this time, I had him and then I let him go.

-o—

Madge joins me in the white seats lined up on the beach, looking ebulliently happy as she tucks her lavender sheath under her. And why shouldn't she? She and Katniss spent the morning getting Annie ready to get remarried, and she's been accepted to a dental school back east, close to where Gale will be going to law school. She's got her life lined up for the next five years, at least. The world is her oyster. She brushes her golden hair behind her ear and lets out a pleased sigh.

"Everything with Annie turn out okay?" Delivering the cake safely to the wedding site had gotten me out of girl-duty. Peeta had wanted to be with Finnick while he got ready, and couldn't be in two places at once. I'm all about the problem solving, so the cake became my job. The truly remarkable thing about it, though, is that Peeta left me alone with his three-tiered work of edible art.

Frankly, it's the best alone time I've had since November.

"Oh, Jo," Madge gushes, "She looks so beautiful. Wait until you see her."

"She should. She's wearing a dress that cost the earth." At Madge's raised eyebrow, I add, "What? It is. It's hand-tatted. Not that I even know what that is, but I envision an entire cloister of old nuns, bent over candles, hand crafting lace while they all go blind."

"I'm pretty sure no nuns were harmed in the making of Annie's dress." She pauses a minute, then looks at me through her lashes. "We missed you today. Come to think of it, you've been pretty scarce since before Christmas."

"Yeah, well, I'm allergic to all of this happily ever after stuff." I drop my eyes to her left-hand ring finger, to the dainty promise ring Gale surprised her with before they headed back home for Christmas break. It's two ropes tied in a knot, which I think is fitting for the two of them, and less obtrusive than a ring that looks like a ball gag. It's at least as fitting as the small pearl hanging from a gold chain that Peeta gave to Katniss for Christmas saying something about the pearl symbolizing beauty being a product of injury and hardship. The fact that Katniss rarely takes it off speaks volumes—it might not be a ring, but it's as good as. "It's hard always being the fifth wheel."

She snorts. "It never bothered you before. If anything, you used us like fly paper to attract the cutest guys."

"Fly paper? Nice analogy." I nod to Gale, who kisses Madge as he joins us. "Did you guys get Zoolander ready?"

"I see you're going to be a peach to be around today. And here I was all set to tell you how much we've missed your smiling face lately. Looks like you're missing it as much as we are." He says wryly, taking in my dark expression. "What's with you? We haven't seen you in forever."

"I was busy looking for a job, Hawthorne. Some of us don't have our futures sewn up like an old married couple."

Gale takes hold of Madge's hand and kissed her knuckles. "I wouldn't say we're like an _old_ married couple. And yes, Finn is ready to begin a lifetime of loving, honoring, and obeying Annie."

"I'm going to vomit, I swear. I can't take another minute of your blissful togetherness. Besides, I'm pretty sure Finn didn't agree to obey the first time around."

Gale's eyes drop to Madge's lips. "If he was smart he did."

I make a gagging noise. "Seriously. Vomit. All over my new dress. And Madge's perfect pedicure."

"Not my pedicure!" She laughs, turning her dainty feet away from me. "I had it done just for the occasion." I'm sure that's true, since even I got a pedicure when I found out that all the guests were going to be urged to leave their shoes inside the tent where dinner will be served after the ceremony. Finn insisted on an old-fashioned crab and lobster bake. Frankly, I'm starving. And the smell of clarified butter that wafts over to me now and then isn't helping.

Gale levels me with a serious look. "Are you ever going to talk to us about what's been going on?"

"Nothing to tell. I'm looking for a job, finishing up my degree, working hard. Same as you. Well, not entirely same as you. I don't spend my Friday and Saturday nights yelling, 'thank you, sir, may I have another!'" Gale's about to speak again when the chamber musicians begin to play Pachelbel's _Canon._ I shush him with a poke to the chest. "It's starting! At least they're on time. I fucking hate it when weddings start late."

Finn's hired security to keep the paparazzi level to a reasonable one. Still, they're everywhere. I can hear cameras clicking over the music as I search the crowd for familiar faces. Haymitch looks rich, bored, and uncomfortable in the April heat. He must want a drink. Effie sits next to him, wearing a dress that looks like it's blossoms of actual live flowers. I wonder what she'll do if there's a swarm of wasps. Finn's dad is already standing at the fishing net and flower-covered pergola. It's hard for me to tell if he's standing up for his son or just trying to grab the only shade on the beach besides the tents. Then it dawns on me that it's probably neither: with all the papps around, he probably wants them to have a chance at some decent shot of him. Still, the guy does look handsome. As does Annie's uncle, who stands in front of her grandmother. At least, I think it's her grandmother—it's hard to tell, what with the glare from the diamond and pearl necklace she's wearing.

Peeta joins Finn's dad at the pergola, the purple of his linen shirt bringing out the gold of his hair and the blue of his eyes. He's barefoot, like I expect Finn is as well, and it's fortuitous that he looks good tousled, because he's already windswept.

"Did someone remember to tell Peeta to bring sunscreen?" Madge asks.

I nod. "Yeah. Guy's gonna burn redder than the lobsters we're eating for dinner otherwise." I spy Angus and Elizabeth over in the back when I turn to look at the dunes Finn had specifically created for the wedding party to crest. Angus waves, face bright red from the heat. I wonder if he also remembered sunscreen before I wave back at where they are both smiling. For a second, I feel guilty at the unanswered letters and emails he's sent me since January, including one with a tip for a job that he says would be perfect. I push that guilt off to the side, though, when I notice Brue and some blonde seated near the older couple. It's not until she turns and I get a good look at her face that my stomach plummets. It's Clarissa. He brought fucking Gloss to Finn's wedding.

I turn quickly away so he can't see me staring daggers at his date. But I can't help thinking about it—about her, in her rose strapless dress that makes her look beautiful and exotic and willowy. Suddenly, the crocheted sundress Annie helped me pick out feels wrong. Like I'm under-dressed, which is totally ridiculous.

" _I like this one." Annie runs her hands over the intricate knot work of the gold dress. "You'll match me."_

" _I'll look naked," I tell her, skimming the rack for something in my price range. Which means I should be shopping in another store._

" _No. This color is in right now. It'll look like the sand—all shimmery—and it will reflect the light when you move. And it will bring out the gold highlights in your hair and deepen the brown of your eyes." My hand pauses, although it still doesn't change the fact that I can't afford it. The sheath she's holding is almost my half of the rent for the month. She gives me a sly look. "Let's go try it on."_

" _I don't get why we're even shopping. It's not like I'm in the wedding party or anything." I try to hide the bitterness from my voice, but I must do a sucky job. She's the bride, and we're not supposed to go to her with our petty bullshit before the wedding. Even when the petty bullshit is about her._

_She drapes the dress carefully over her arm, sighs, and turns to face me. "Jo, I've already explained why Peeta and Katniss are standing up for us this time." She cuts me off before can get a word in edgewise, "And it's got nothing to do with them being really photogenic. Finn and I agreed that we would each pick one person. Peeta and I have gotten really close, so Finn agreed that Katniss was the logical choice."_

_I push my way past her into the dressing room. Like she said, they've explained this already. But that doesn't change the fact that it feels like I got fucked over by one of my closest friends so that everyone could stay paired up. Wordlessly, I step out of my shorts, yank my 'SC t-shirt over my head, and hold my hand over the top of the dressing room door so she can hand me the dress that they're charging for by the ounce._

_Annie waits until she hears the zipper. "How does it look? Amazing, right?"_

_She not wrong. I don't have a lot of bust, but the cut and design of the crochet make it seem less severe than it looked on the hanger. I almost look like I have cleavage. The back is nice and low, and the hem is short enough that my legs look long and toned—great. They'll look even better tanned, so I make a mental note to get out on the quad while I'm studying for the next few weeks. "I look alright."_

" _Alright? Not fabulous? I'm coming in." Annie opens the door, takes one look at me, and claps her hands over her mouth. Her eyes get misty, which I fucking hate. "Oh, Jo. You look like a golden goddess. We'll do your hair up at the nape of your neck—"_

" _Whoa. You're the one getting married. I've only got a chorus part, so stop worrying about my hair." I touch the tiny beads worked into the crochet that are responsible for the light catching every time I move. "I can't afford this one anyway, and there's no way I'm letting you buy it for me."_

" _Please? My grandmother and uncle are covering the cost of most of the wedding. One more dress won't matter to them."_

_I stop unzipping myself to stare at her for a minute. "Why is this so important to you, Annie? It's just a dress. I get that your family is rich as Croesus, but it's the principle of the thing. I pay my own way." I leave out that it feels like a pay-off for being pushed to the side, because I'm pretty sure that won't solve anything, and it might get Annie crying. And no matter how heartless I feel, that's one line I just don't want to cross._

" _Consider it a thank you." At my blank look, she adds, "For not getting in the way in the very beginning of things with me and Finn." I snort. Like I could have stopped that freight train? She's giving me way too much power. "Seriously, Jo, you could have ruined everything for me so many times. You could have hated me. I was afraid of that—of you—in the beginning. You're Finn's family. One word from you and it would have been enough to make Finn to back off. I wouldn't have Finn, or Sam, if it weren't for you. After, with Sam…you were there for me. And I know for a fact that you didn't want me to stay with Finn, but you were supportive anyway."_

" _You give me way too much credit."_

" _Not true. I think you're the one who's too hard on yourself. So? Will you let me splurge a little?"_

_I look down at the dress in my hands. It really did make me feel beautiful. And what's an itsy, bitsy gift between friends? Besides, Finn owes me for all the pizza my family fed him growing up. That, plus interest, has got to be worth the cost of this thing._

_Annie knows the minute I'm beat and actually hops up and down. "Yes! Now, let's go look at shoes."_

I snap back to Madge's nails digging into my arm. "There she is! Oh, Katniss looks great. Doesn't she look great?"

I roll my eyes. Did I know that Madge was a talker at weddings? She's probably a crier, too. I hope Gale brought tissues, because the tiny clutch bag I have barely holds a two condoms, my cell phone, and lip gloss. I even had to forego breath mints, which is a severe party foul.

Katniss does look exotic: the frothy, sea foam green of her dress makes her skin and dark hair glow. If that's not enough, she's smiling. I have to wonder if Madge slipped something into her breakfast, that's how serene she looks, even with all the eyes upon her as she walks as steadily as possible down the sand dune to the pergola. I spare a glance at Peeta, who gazes at her with rapt attention. The smile on his face carries such love and pride that I have to glance away.

No tissues. Remember?

A minute or two after Katniss gets to the pagoda, there's still no Finn or Annie. The crowd begins to get restless. Even the papps start to snap pics of our faces, in case someone is a no-show and they need a reaction shot. I glare at one who has the audacity to break through the security line when a sound drifts over the music. It's out of place enough that even Madge shakes her head like she can't place it.

It sounds like…laughter.

Sam crests the dune by himself, smiling proudly, dimples flashing. Sunlight glints off his hair and he looks so much like a tiny version of Finn that my heart clenches. Next to me, I'm pretty sure I hear Madge's ovaries explode like the climax of a Bruckheimer film. Even Gale chuckles as Sam's eyes grow wide when he catches sight of all of us. He stops for a second before deciding discretion is the better part of valor, and looks behind him.

Finn appears suddenly, bending slight to grab the hand of his son. They smile at one another, identical dimples, and wind-swept hair in matching linen shirts and khaki pants. Camera shutters whir practically on command before Annie comes into view, her hand clasped in Finn's. It's her laugh we hear, a sound of pure joy, as the three of them trip down the center aisle, barefoot, heedless of sand, shells, and rocks. I hear the first sniffles coming from next to me by the time they reach the pagoda.

Madge sniffs before gratefully accepting a hankie from Gale. "They're so happy."

I side-eye her. "Then why are you crying?"

"It's true love, Jo. Look at them."

She's got a point. Watching the little family unit, it's almost impossible to fathom how much they've been through. Annie is practically incandescent. She doesn't even let go of Finn's hand when she turns to pass off her bouquet to Katniss. Finn looks like he can't wait for the rest of his life to start, and he's not about to let go of her hand. Sam barely fidgets. Instead, he stands proudly with Finn's dad. Although the bride and groom smile so hard that their cheeks must hurt, I swear I hear Effie, and maybe Elizabeth, as well as Madge cry when the officiant asks, "Who gives this woman and this man to each other, that they may cleave together as one family?"

Finn's dad and Annie's uncle come forward, and suddenly, there's a whole lot of hotness gathered together. Both men take turns kissing Finn, then Annie, then Sam. Afterward, Sam walks over to his father and plants a sweet, wet kiss on his cheeks before turning to Annie and holding up his arms to be carried. Annie smiles. Totally nonplussed, she scoops him up, kisses him soundly, and takes hold of Finn's hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. Finally, the three of them stand, eye to eye and hand in hand, smiling like idiots.

And, I swear, there's not a dry eye on the beach.

Well, except for me. I'm fine. Clear-eyed, even. Okay, I get a little overcome when Finn says, in the most serious voice I've ever heard him use, "I will not lead, I will not follow, I will forever walk beside you." And if Gale hands me a tissue and I take it, it's just because I have sand in my eye.

Finally, it's over. Finn and Annie kiss through their smiles, laughing the whole time. And then Finn swoops Sam into his arms with a "Whoop!" and they each kiss one of Sam's cheeks.

-o—

"Nice spread, Peeta." I motion with my beer to the picnic tables spread around the tent, covered in red gingham and fishing nets. Glass votive candles hang at various levels from the ceiling, which is open on all four sides to the beach and ocean. Seashells are strewn everywhere in lieu of flowers: tangled in nets around the tent-posts, on the tables, as garlands with more netting to segregate the musicians from the guests. As wedding feasts go, the meal was messy, but memorable. We've all spent the better part of the afternoon gorging ourselves on lobster, crab, boiled potatoes, Peeta's cheese-buns, and, for the not-faint-of-heart, corn on the cob. I'm as stuffed as I can be in a dress that's two sizes too small, and I know I'm not the only one. I only hope the papps got some great pictures of us wearing plastic bibs, covered in clarified butter.

"Don't thank me. Cinna did most of it." He motions to the cake. "Thanks for getting that here in one piece."

"I didn't do too badly, did I? Only a couple of touch-ups." We clink bottles. It's three layers, decorated to look like the ocean. The top layer has an actual wave cresting on it that's so realistic, Peeta must have used voodoo to construct it. As if that's not amazing enough, there's a fishing net made out of spun sugar that fits around all three layers. "Are you ever going to tell me how you got that spun sugar here without it shattering into a zillion pieces?"

"Trade secret." He smirks. "You did great, Jo. I couldn't have done better myself." Although he sounds sincere, he looks tense. I'm pretty sure Peeta isn't going to relax until the cake is actually cut. Which is funny, when you think of it: Peeta doesn't want the cake to get wrecked before it's supposed to get wrecked.

"Thanks. It's amazing, really, how authentic it looks."

Peeta smiles and it lights up his whole face. "You think it's amazing? This is the first one I've done all by myself. My dad used to bake the cakes and help with construction, so it really means a lot that you think it looks good."

I gape for a second, realizing that Peeta's nervousness has nothing to do with how big this wedding is, or that someone might kick sand onto something he worked on for a week. He'd be this nervous if it were just Finn and Annie, alone, with zero chance of something happening to the cake. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry—"

"Why do you think I was so happy for the company when I was crafting it?"

_I swipe at the frosting in the bowl at Peeta's elbow, flinching when he smacks me across the knuckles with a wooden spoon. I quickly retract the hand and look for bruises. "Ouch! Brainless, that hurt!"_

_He doesn't stop mixing color into another bowl of frosting. "My mother's moves finally come in handy. You don't want to get hit? Then stop making moves on my buttercream."_

" _How can you even joke about that?" I sulk back to my side of the worktable and sit on the stool, clutching my hand. Peeta's mixing frosting for Annie and Finn's wedding cake. He's already messy-frosted the three-tiered monster, whatever that means. To me, it looks like spackle, or the first layer of spray stucco._

" _Her, you mean? Or my whole fucked-up family thing?" He shrugs, then keeps mixing. "I guess it's laugh or cry. I don't want to forget it, because it got me here, but I can't think too closely about it. I thought it was the worst thing to ever happen to me at the time. But I'm still here. Still breathing. Every day is a new opportunity to succeed or fail."_

" _So it gets easier? And do you ever get pissed at Rye for not having to deal with any of the crap?" I give up on risking life and limb for frosting, reach into my backpack, and pull out a Twinkie. The wooden spoon bats it from my hand, like a wiffle ball. It travels across the room to stick against the wall like an obscene spitball. "Hey! That was my snack!"_

" _What have I told you about faux baked-goods and my kitchen? Go into the refrigerator and have an éclair." He resumes mixing while I shuffle to the refrigerator to do as I'm told, trying not to jump for joy. Peeta's éclairs are better than the best oral sex. Not that I would have recent knowledge of that act, but I'm sure it's true. "And, no. It doesn't get easier. I would be lying if I said that. But I do feel like I'm better able to handle it. Like I said, every day is a new day." He sighs heavily. I'm pretty sure he'd run his hands through his hair if they weren't full of glorious, buttercream-y goodness. "Yeah. I do get pissed at Rye. I just have to remember that I can only do what I can do, here and now. That's what I can control. And, sometimes, when I really need a break from it all, I paint. Or bake. Plus, I can look around and see everything we've accomplished and I don't feel so helpless."_

" _We? You mean you." I take a bite of pure heaven that's like pastry cream porn, covered in chocolate. I have to bite back a moan of appreciation._

" _No. We all worked for this together. If I hadn't had you and Annie to help, there's no way this would have worked. I wouldn't have even started without you guys."_

_I lick my lips and start on a second éclair. After all, Peeta didn't tell me I could only have one. "Yeah, well, you had other help. Haymitch…Angus…Effie…don't you ever get tired of selling yourself for the sake of this place?"_

_He thinks for a minute, the thumping of his spoon against the side of bowl the only sound. "No. It's…different. Before, I had to sell myself all the time, just to feel like I was good enough. Now, I look around and know I'm good enough. It's about getting better. I set the limits and decide what I'm comfortable with." He grabs a spoon and samples the frosting while I watch enviously. He knows damn well I could eat that entire bowl. "Have you thought about where you're living after graduation? I've got space upstairs. You could move in here."_

_I snort. "No way am I contributing to the rep 451 has as a commune. Besides, all this gray concrete isn't my style. I was thinking Katniss and I might move downtown. That way we could still be close to you and Finn. We haven't really talked about it, though." He's quiet for just a second too long. Or maybe it's the weird, guilty look he wears, or the red splotches on his cheeks that clue me in. "Wait. You asked Katniss to move in with you, didn't you? What did she say?" I grab his arm._

_He looks away, but I can tell the answer the minute his blue eyes meet mine. They're clear and filled with what I can only describe as joy. "She said yes." He reaches to an empty pastry bag fitted with a star tip and plops a dollop of frosting as big as my fist into it. With a deft move, he twists the bag closed and hands it to me with a flourish. "Now, I need an opinion: caramel buttercream. Yes? Or No?"_

Pushing away the memory, and the fact that it means I'll be completely alone come June, I pull myself away from the cake table and down the rest of my beer. "Caramel buttercream was an inspired choice, Mellark. I'm going to head back to the bar for another. You want anything?" He shakes his head, so I weave between the tables, so lost in thought that I don't see the wall of man coming my way.

Angus grabs my arm and pulls me into a full bear hug. "Lass! Ye've been avoiding me these past few weeks, haven't ye?" I paste on a fake smile that he sees right through. He thumps me on the back, hard enough that I almost stumble. "Ye need to humor an old man when he calls. Or emails. Or writes letters."

"You're not old. And I've been busy, looking for a job."

He mock-glares. "Ye wouldn't have to if ye would call the number I gave ye."

"I'm not taking another job that you've lined up for me. I've told you that."

"Lass, Tyrell was an ass. I made a mistake puttin' ye there, but I think this place will be a much better fit."

"Thanks, Angus. But I can do this on my own."

"Ye are stubborn as an ox, ye know that?" He's clearly frustrated. "And while we're talking, what's going on with ye and my grandson? I hear ye're being pigheaded there, too."

My eyes fly to his. What has Brue told him? I stare at him for a minute, trying to collect my thoughts as the announcement is made that Finn and Annie will be cutting the cake next.

"Did ye know he's releasing an album of covers? He swears it was yer idea."

I give Angus a one-sided grin that doesn't reach my eyes. "What can I say? I'm a regular inspiration. Besides, if anyone can update The Eagles or Foreigner and market it to our parents, it's Brue."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What's goin' on with ye? Ye're different. Darker."

I close my eyes tiredly for a second and wish everyone would stop asking me that question. "I'm fine."

He speaks slowly, "No, ye're not. The two of ye aren't seein' each other anymore, and I hear that's ye're choice. I can respect that. But you don't seem that happy about it."

Behind him, Annie and Finn clasp hands while they cut into Peeta's masterpiece. "Angus—"

"Do you love him, lass?" His voice is gentle.

Annie takes a small bite from Finn's hand, her smile open and trusting. The intricate, kissing mermaid design tatted across the back of her dress wavers for a minute before I find my center and smile tightly. "There's no one left I love," I say flippantly.

Without waiting for him to ask me any more questions, I walk away.

Staring at the ocean waves as they crash against the shore for what seems like forever, I empty my mind of all the baggage and just concentrate on the sun, the ocean, and the sound of the gulls. I've almost found some sort of peace that makes the ache in my chest bearable when I hear the last voice I would ever expect.

"Hey, Jo. I saw you leave. Thought you might want a drink." Cato holds one of two champagne flutes out to me cautiously. Like he's not sure if I'm going to sweep the leg and kick his ass, or just say thank you. At least I know it's not obvious that I'm all out of ass-kicking these days.

"Thanks." I take a sip. If Cato knew me at all, he would have brought me cake instead. "I didn't know you were invited."

"Yeah. It's a small world, remember? Angus knows my family, and the Odairs have some investments with my dad, too, so…"

"Small world is right. Everyone knows everyone." I polish off my drink and jerk my head toward the Pacific Coast Highway, where I'm parked. "You want to get out of here?"

He gapes. "Wh—Are you sure?"

I nod. It feels like a good decision. One I make on my own, not because someone thinks it's a good idea, or would look good on a transcript, or because he's got the right connections. I'm so tired of all that. "Why not? You and I are the only unattached ones left, and we've known each other a long time."

"But you don't even like me. How many parties have you and your friends run me out of?"

I tilt my head at him. "Well, I'm not throwing you out of this one. Besides, liking someone's not really a requirement for what I have in mind. Are you coming?" I turn and walk toward the dunes.

"What about your shoes?" He catches up to my shorter strides and takes in my tan legs and the oh-so-adorable flowers on my plum toenails.

I long for the beautiful gold sandals Annie bought to go with my dress for a split second before deciding that she or Madge will bring them home. At least, I hope they will. But it's not like I'm ever going to wear this outfit again, so I shrug. "Fuck 'em. Let's saddle up."

-o—

Graduation comes, along with moving day. I try to be gone before Katniss so that I don't do something stupid like cry all over her. Plus, I know I'll see her at 451. It will be weird for it to be both her place and Peeta's. But change is good, right? We're all moving on. Growing up. I remember someone telling me that the friends we make in college are the friends we keep for life. I'm sure that Katniss and I will stay in touch. I mean, how do you live with someone for four years and not think of them occasionally?

My family helps me cart my stuff to the place I rented. That's weird, too, especially because the boys are huge now: Charles is almost sixteen, a young man, while Christian and Caleb are both pre-teens. Charles _shaves_. I feel the stubble that's longer in the spots he missed when he hugs me. And, when I whisper to him, asking if he's using condoms and being responsible, he blushes and gives a jerky nod before he rolls his eyes. That one gesture shows me he's not a total stranger, and my gut clenches at its familiarity even after all this time apart. Anyway, they help me move into a shoebox-sized apartment off the 10 Freeway. It's a small studio, but it's close to the job that I've lined up.

I had called Angus's contact at Weyland-Yutani, finally caving when the panic attacks were getting in the way of studying for finals. I didn't tell Angus, of course. I barely waved at him and Elizabeth on graduation day, and used moving as an excuse to skip 451 for that whole weekend in a bid to avoid everyone, especially anyone with the last name MacLeod. Then the job started, and things took off pretty rapidly. Unlike Tyrell's, this place is a great fit. They value what they call creative dissonance, which means there's a "survival of the fittest" vibe that Tyrell would have squashed like a bug. I love the environment so much that I'd sleep there if I could: I'm surrounded by geeks who love to argue a lot. They're only marginally intimidated by the fact that I have breasts, but I do add that to my arsenal with a few key people in management who can't seem to wrap their head around the idea of a bloodthirsty engineer who can know her stuff and still be a woman.

I don't really get to see much of my friends as I adjust to the job and my new, solitary lifestyle. The quiet gets to me sometimes. Although there are no nightmares, I have trouble sleeping, so I go home with random guys occasionally just for something to do. Everyone needs a hobby, right? And, if none of them taste quite right when we kiss, at least there's no one there to tell me "I told you so." The only other downside is needing to keep a change of clothes and a toothbrush in my car. But hey, if there's an earthquake or a zombie apocalypse, I'm all set.

I take to staying really late at the office. The other engineers—mostly guys—don't question it because they do it, too. And I get the added bonus of winning almost every match for a month after I teach them the 451 version of beer pong. In homage to Peeta, I use First Round Draft as the beer of choice. I think both he and Katniss would be pleased if he knew.

Time flies. I'm promoted after the first ninety days, and chosen to give a customer-facing presentation. Feeling on top of the world, I text Katniss who immediately wants to know where I've been all summer and if I can take time out of my busy schedule for the goodbye GNO Annie's planning for Madge.

Goodbye.

I'd almost forgotten that Madge and Gale are taking off soon for school back east. There's an uncomfortable pressure in my chest when I think about the fact that they're moving away, probably for good. I mean, who comes _back_ to L.A. if they can help it? Their families are east coast. It makes sense that they'll settle there. We'll be lucky to get Facebook status updates and a Christmas card, and maybe meet up every five or ten years when someone heads to the other coast on business. It's too depressing to even contemplate that the next time I see Madge could be her wedding. If I'm lucky enough to be invited.

I text Katniss back that I'm in for sure and to have Annie email me the details.

I nail the customer presentation a week later. I'm still coming down off the high as I unlock my door and shove it open with one hand, clutching my venti iced green tea in the other, when my cell phone buzzes. I drop my work bag on the counter, pull off the suit jacket I'd worn in an effort to impress the client, and grab the phone from my purse. There's ten missed texts and a voicemail. I hit the texts, expecting them to be from Annie.

I'm not wrong.

I flip through them until I get to one which asks me if I'm alright. Another tells me that she and Finn are both sorry. The last asks if I they can do anything for me.

What the fuck?

So I scroll back and hit them in succession. One mentions a article, which I take as a clue. My phone's browser opens slowly, so I kick off my shoes and take a sip of my drink, wondering what could be so important. I glance at my phone mid-sip and freeze. It's not just an article. It's an obituary on the home page.

It's _Angus's_ obituary.


	44. Life After Learning

I slide down the cabinets, hitting the ground hard and skimming the article for more info. All it tells me is that Angus passed away at Cedars Sinai from a massive heart attack after suffering a minor one earlier the same day, and that he is survived by his beloved wife Elizabeth, their children, and grandchildren. The rest of the article talks about the future of his company, stocks, and charitable contributions.

I could care less. My gaze snags on the phrase, _he is survived by his beloved wife._

_Survived._

Angus is dead.

How is that even possible? The man was more alive than _twenty_ men when I saw him at Finn's wedding and graduation. A thousand impressions hit me at once: his crushing hugs, his brogue, his smile, his need to wear endless plaid, and shameless love of bagpipes and whisky. The way he laughed triumphantly when I got the presentation for Tyrell just right. He and Elizabeth dancing at the first Parents' Weekend. The two of them holding hands like newlyweds at Finn's wedding.

Tears fall and I brush them away without even registering them as I bang my head repeatedly against the cabinets. I swear, I would beat it to a bloody pulp if I could. When did I forget that people can be taken away? That there are no guarantees? I try to blame Angus's larger-than-life personality for the distraction, just like I tried to blame Carys's being a kid. But the truth is, she should have taught me that some relationships are gifts not to be taken lightly. I must have forgotten while I kept telling myself that I was impervious to any and all hurt because no one mattered.

What a crock of fucking shit. How could I take him for granted?

Peeta almost leaving mattered.

Annie in the hospital mattered.

Madge deciding to move away mattered.

Angus mattered.

A cry rips through me at the injustice of it before it hits me with a jolt that I'll never get to tell Angus how happy I am at Wey-Yu. I'll never get to thank him for everything he's done for me. A sudden flash comes to me of his face at Finn's wedding, standing across from me and asking if I loved Brue. Angus and I had never had cause to lie to each other. I valued that in him: that he didn't patronize me like a kid. It was the best part of our friendship. And yet, I lied to him that day, and now I'll never get to take it back and tell him how I really feel. I'm an idiot.

Because now, _now_ there's no one left I love.

I hurt everywhere. This pain inside me, it's not emptiness, not a gaping hole just waiting to be filled up. No. This is pain that swirls around the chasm inside me with the ferocity of a tornado and the relentlessness of a tsunami. This isn't the dull thud of loss, like a bruise on my soul. This is a soul-rending fracture right along the suture scars that remain from the loss of my sister that will never, ever heal. Some wounds don't. I decide hazily that I want a reminder of this one so I can never make the same mistake again. Bile rises in my throat. As I crawl to the bathroom to be sick, I grab a pair of scissors from the Henckels knife block—a graduation gift from my parents that had seemed silly at the time. The cool heft of the shiny blades feel good against my palm. I think I've finally found a use for them.

-o—

"Jo? Jo!" Annie's frantic voice sinks through the fog as I wake slowly. "Finn, Get those scissors away from her and get me some water. Maybe if we splash it on her face—"

I make a noise that sounds like a growl. At least, I think it's me. I'm freezing, I'm so sore that it feels like I've been hit by a freight train, snot and tears weld my eyes shut, and something ticklish brushes my lips and nose and makes me want to sneeze every time I draw breath.

Why am I on the floor?

The minute it all rushes back, fresh tears gather in the corner of my eyes. They loosen the eye-snot and make it possible for me to blink as I sit slowly.

"She's awake! She's awake!" Annie yells to Finn, who must be getting a glass of water in the other room.

"Thank God. You scared us half to death." Finn's back, wearing a scowl I haven't seen from him in a long time. Trailing him are Peeta and Madge. Annie's tears shock me into letting her enfold me in her arms and rock me back and forth like a child. She's warm. Comforting. I lean my head against her shoulder and close my eyes again while she murmurs soothing words that I can't make out.

"She's had a shock," Gale says from behind the rest of the party. "Let's get her something warm to drink. Annie, can you get her up off the floor?"

Annie must nod because I feel her trying to move me. I'm dead weight though, and I don't bother helping her. My eyelids feel so heavy, I just want to lie here and sleep. Forever.

"Here. Let me help." Peeta leans down—I know it's him because he smells like bread—and scoops me up into his arms. Before I know it, I'm on my couch with a blanket over my legs and Annie's sitting next to me, rubbing my hands. I hear noise from my tiny kitchen and register that Peeta's probably banging around in there. Someone—Katniss, I think—hands me a tissue. It's like mopping up the Gulf oil spill with a maxi pad.

I sniff. I just want something to take me away so I can float above it all and feel nothing. I totally get how people can be addicted to painkillers. I'd give my left boob for Madge's mom's stash of Percocet.

Peeta puts a mug of something hot in my hands. I try to push it away, but he literally holds it to my lips until I take a sip. He and Finn exchange looks and Finn takes over. I'm marginally less combative with him, probably because he keeps leaning into my ear and telling me that everyone's here for me and it will be okay. I'm sure, just like last time, he believes it.

"Do you think we should call her work? I don't think she can go into work tomorrow." Annie addresses the group in a worried tone.

I struggle to sit up as something pops into my head that's imperative I share. I sniff hard, trying to find my voice. "I want to go to the funeral." Just that little bit of effort tires me out enough that I don't even protest at all when Finn makes me take another drink of what I now register is chicken broth warming me up from the inside out.

Madge nods before picking up her purse and grabbing her cell. "I'll make some calls and find out what arrangements are being made."

Finn sits on the edge of the couch, clearly interested in a conversation now that I'm talking. "You want to tell us what you were thinking with the scissor stunt?" Finn uses his best "dad voice", but it doesn't rouse me at all. If anything, more tears leak out of my eyes. Finally he runs his hands through his hair, and wraps his arms around me. He rocks with me for a minute or two before he leans his head against mine. His voice is thick when he says, "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again. Do you understand me? You're my family, you and Annie and Sam. We can't lose you. Talk to me, Jo."

"I just…I can't believe he's gone." I raise my eyes up to the ceiling. "How could this happen?" I don't expect an answer, especially not from Finn, who's never lost anyone. Scratch that, he lost his mother, true. But she's still _out there_. She's not gone forever.

"Sometimes people are taken from us, and there's nothing we can do about it." Katniss crosses to crouch next to me. "And, when they go, they take pieces of us with them."

"What if I need those pieces? There's not enough of me to hold together without them."

Katniss stands and Gale walks to her side. They share a silent, grim look. "We'll help you to fill in the gaps until the edges heal. That's what friends do."

A shudder goes through me. I'm not very good at letting people help. At the same time, I've been pushing people away like a kid who won't share her ball, but it's gotten me nowhere. I still hurt. And I can't help but think that this is my last chance to reach out and really connect. My friends are here now. How much more pushing will it take until they forget about me completely and move on with their lives? I don't want to be the woman who dies alone in her apartment and no one notices until the smell hits the hallway days later.

I want to live. I want to be close to people. _These_ people. Madge, Annie, Katniss—they're all worth it, even if I'm not. They're worth the fight.

Peeta interrupts. "I've got to head to the store for essentials. I'm not sure what Jo's been living on, but I swear I just saw a roach in the kitchen with a _'Will work for food'_ sign."

It dawns on me that he and Katniss should probably be at 451. Hell, Annie and Finn probably came from there too. But when I start to protest in a panic, Peeta shoots me a dirty look and holds up a hand. "Don't even think of arguing. We're staying. I'll be back shortly."

Madge coaxes me into some warm jammies and helps me take off what's left of my make-up while Annie straightens up the bathroom and puts my work clothes away. Pretty soon I've got my knees tucked under me on the couch while Gale finds a video for us to watch. While _Ghostbusters_ plays in the background, Annie rubs my back. Before you know it, I'm asleep.

I'm awakened by the sound of the door closing. It's dark in the living room, only a little ambient light seeping into the room from the kitchen. Someone's in there unpacking bags. From the heavy footfalls, I have to assume it's Peeta, and that his return woke me. But it's the quiet conversation I hear on the other end of the couch that keeps me awake.

"I'm really worried. I've never seen her like this." Katniss's voice is low.

"Catnip, she'll get over it. It will be hard, but what you said is right on target. We'll be here for her."

"You guys are leaving soon. And Jo's never been one to really trust other people to lend a hand. She doesn't like to rely on anyone for help."

"Yeah, well, neither did you, but I wore you down eventually." I can almost hear Katniss scowl in response. Gale must too, because he sighs. "Look. We're all going to do everything we can to get her on the right track. It will be okay. Jo's strong as hell and twice as stubborn. She'll see her way clear of this."

"I hope so, Gale. I really do. It's scaring me. Finn too. I don't think she ever got over her sister. This might be too much for her to handle."

I don't hear Gale's response because the tears start flowing the second Katniss mentions Carys. Some sort of pathetic mewl comes out of my mouth, but Finn's there immediately with a blanket and a hug. Peeta follows that with a bowl of something he calls "Jewish penicillin"—a soup so laden with vegetables, chunks of chicken, and matzo balls that the clear broth clouds up immediately upon dipping a spoon into it. I wonder if he sprinkled some sort of magic dust on it as well because, by the time I finish my bowl, I feel human. Almost.

Despite my protests, the crew doesn't let me stay alone. Gale and Madge are, surprisingly, the two that shoo Annie, Finn, Katniss, and Peeta out the door. Gale queues up _Stripes_ —who knew he was a Bill Murray fan?—and Madge dishes us all some of Peeta's natilla custard. The creamy, velvety goodness sticks to my ribs and settles my stomach. Before long, I'm nodding off again on Madge's shoulder with a full belly and an aching heart.

-o—

"Get up. Jo, Get up." Gale shakes my shoulder as I look around groggily. I'm not sure why he's there, or why Madge is in my kitchen, dishing out bowls of oatmeal for all three of us. It doesn't take long for it all to rush back: the presentation, Angus, everyone coming over, Madge making a bajillion phone calls, and Gale and Madge spending the night.

I shrug his hand off my shoulder. "I'm up."

"Good. Get dressed. We're going out."

"Are you always this bossy?" I grumble. There's no heat to it, though. Gale just settles his cool gray gaze on me until I scurry into my bedroom and grab jeans and a shirt. I don't bother with a shower, but I can't skip teeth and a good face scrub to hide the tracks of my tears. The whole time I'm in the bathroom, I studiously avoid the mirror and the evidence of what I've done. I'm just not that brave. Besides, Gale's the Northeast's version of a redneck. Seriously, the guy's trying to single-handedly bring 90's grunge back, so he always has a baseball cap handy. I figure I can borrow it and avoid any sort of embarrassment from the Britney Spears haircut I gave myself last night.

Which is why I hop in the car and grab his hat from the back seat without even asking. Gale doesn't say a word, but waits patiently for me to plop it backwards on my head and fasten my seatbelt. He's still quiet as we make our way to a part of L.A. I've never seen before. Tension mounts as the silence lingers.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask. I don't recognize a single landmark and I'm starting to get edgy. Gale's never been a big fan of mine, and maybe he got ideas from my sudden lack of will to live. I'm not sure what bothers me more: the fact that I might die by Gale's hand, or the fact that he'd probably make sure it hurt. Then I remember his conversation with Katniss. For sure the guy doesn't want to hurt me, but he's not above a Hallmark Family Moment. "Is this the cue for some stirring Nickelback soundtrack to play in the background as you tell me a story from your childhood?"

Gale doesn't even flinch. "You know, Jo, we all get that you hide behind your sarcasm. Just be quiet and enjoy the scenery. We'll be there soon."

_Where?_ I want to ask again, but Gale's scowl discourages me. Instead, I face forward and read aloud every single marquee on every single store. Not because it's annoying or anything, no. Because it's educational. The tapping of Gale's hand on the steering wheel is just an added bonus.

Gale sighs in relief as we pull into a parking lot and he cuts the engine. "Are you done?"

"We're at a gun shop?"

"Ding! Ding! The girl can read." He takes a slow, deep breath, like he's trying to gather his thoughts. Or hold onto his temper. Or both. "When my dad died—"

"Here it comes." I roll my eyes.

"Shut. Up. Just shut up and listen for once in your life." He takes another breath, leans his hands on the top of the steering wheel and starts again. "After Dad died, I got a little lost. I was fourteen and pretty angry with the world. Mom was pregnant with Posy, so she couldn't help, and Vick and Rory were younger. I couldn't really lean on them. I felt totally alone until an uncle took me to a shooting range. Shooting takes discipline. Focus. It brought me outside myself and gave me an outlet for all of my destructive energy. He took me every weekend for six months. And now," he glances my way, "I'm taking you. So you're going to get your butt out of this car without any smart-ass comments. We're going to go in there, and you're going to learn how to do this without giving me any more gray hairs than Vick, Rory, or Posy already have. Understood?"

I gape at him while he finishes his little speech. I've never been nice to Gale, not even when we fucked. He owes me nothing. Which is why, instead of the quip I know he expects, I croak, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're family, Jo." He looks askance in my direction. "Don't you get it? We all think so. You're the sister who calls us on our shit, keeps us in line, and is so fucking annoying that, most of the time, we just want to give you a wet willy or mess up your hair or something. But we need you. And you need us." He opens his door. "Now, are you coming or do I have to carry you?"

I scramble after him. But the whole time Gale's procuring guns and ammo, I think about what he said and how my first reaction is to negate it. I don't _want_ to be that girl. I'm alone. My friends and I have been drifting further and further apart all year. But then I think about how much all of them mean to me, and how I've already lost one family – Charles's surprising adulthood comes to mind— and I realize I can't lose another because I'm too stubborn and stupid to hang on. To _change._ I've been holding on to the wrong things for past four years. I've been so busy trying to remember my sister and the pain of losing her so that I can save myself from having to go through it again, that I've forgotten to _live_ and enjoy the people I care about.

"Get out of your head," Gale insists for the fourth time as he comes up behind me and shows me the stance he wants me to take. "You're thinking too much."

I have no idea what he's trying to get me to do. How does someone shut off their brain? "Well, Brainless, maybe that's easy for you to do since there's nothing between your ears."

He shakes his head. "I swear to God if Posy is anything like you, I will stab myself in the eye. Put the safety on and put your arms at your side. Now, close your eyes and clear your brain. Don't think about a thing. Just visualize the target. Forget how weird the gun feels in your hand, and how you want to hit a bullseye. This isn't a competition. Just relax and breathe for a second and visualize the target."

"Are you done, Dr. Phil?"

He narrows his eyes. "Maybe I should have let Madge go with her idea and take you shopping."

That shuts me up for a minute. Enough time for him to go back to his lane, pick up his gun, and take a shot. I watch him for a minute, mostly to go over what he's shown me already: stance, breathing, and aim. I try to visualize the target, without much luck. Finally, I take a couple of deep breaths, shake out my shoulders, prep for the blast of the recoil, and give it a shot.

Get it?

I miss. Again. It takes a few more tries laden with colorful swearing before I get what Gale's trying to talk me through. The trick is all in the breathing. Once I master that, the world falls away and all that exists is me, my arm, the target, and a few bullets. I'm still fractured, my edges still jagged, but they are razor-honed to a lethal edge, pointed in a single direction. I'm so far in the zone that I don't even hear Gale calling my name.

"Jo! You doing ok?" He's watching me with a concerned scowl.

And it hits me all at once—Gale's been where I am. He can lead me out of this, if anyone can.

I can clearly see the fork in the road in front of me. One direction follows Gale out to the light and to my friends and family. The other path draws me further into the nightmare of holding onto Carys and Angus. Alone. Maybe forever.

Just like that, I grin. I'm going to be sore tomorrow from the jolt of the recoil, but it's not a lie when I tell him, "I'm good."

-o—

"So then what happened?" Madge asks. She and the rest of the gang are hanging out at my apartment when we get back. Peeta's made jalapeño cheese buns to go with the soup from last night. The entire apartment smells like a bakery. Like home. Just biting into one of those buns sets off a mariachi band in my mouth.

Gale pauses his own reverent chewing. "Jo almost shot me." At my glare, he appends, "Ok, maybe it wasn't that close. But she did almost swing her firing arm toward me when she realized I was talking to her." He shrugs. "I grabbed us each another box of ammo, and then we quit for the day. I even sprang for coffee afterward."

I mumble something about how Gale is so tight-fisted that a five dollar Frappuccino is a big deal. I stop myself, though, when I remember that he got rid of my target evidence without my even needing to ask. And how, when we were sitting and sipping our drinks, he didn't laugh when I almost cried when I told him thank you. He just grabbed the back of my neck like a wolf with his cub and let me punch him in the arm, thus ending our tender moment and getting us back to our normal relationship.

It felt good.

So when he tells everyone that I almost shot him, I let him rib me about my inexperience. I even say that I'll buy the next time if he'll put on his big boy pants and stop whining about how I might hurt him. The whole time, though, my eyes are just a little shiny. And, when I make an excuse and go into my bedroom, everyone lets me go.

Madge and Katniss follow me after a bit. Neither is surprised at my tear-streaked cheeks, or the fact that I'm hugging my pillow to my mouth to stifle the sobs from everyone in the next room. Madge sits on the bed and rubs my back.

"I thought we could help you pick out an outfit for the funeral." She says the words quietly, but they lance right through me anyway. As my face crumples and another sob escapes, she says, "We won't think any less of you if you don't go, you know."

I shake my head. I can't put into words why I have to go, but I do. I know it will be painful for me and probably a mob scene. I also know that neither Brue nor Elizabeth will even see me in the crush. But I have to pay my respects to Angus. _I'll_ know that I was there. And I won't be able to live with myself if I don't go.

Katniss puts a hand on my arm. "Peeta is going with you. You won't be alone."

I nod past the lump in my throat. Having him there will be a huge help: I'm already familiar with his cries in the middle of the night, so why not share mine with him to even it up? I'm sure he even believes the bullshit line that pain shared is pain halved.

Madge sniffs like she's not impervious to the emotion flying around the room. "Let's pick you out something to wear, shall we?" Crossing to my closet, she rifles through my limited supply of dress clothes. "Black skirt, I think. Black and white is tasteful. Do you have anything that isn't just a plain white blouse? I don't want you looking like a waiter." She drones on about how she can probably spruce it up with a scarf or some chunky jewelry.

Neither Katniss nor I are really listening. She leans toward me and whispers, "I found some stuff of yours while I was unpacking and brought it over. Do you want to go through it?"

I nod. Anything to get my mind off Madge's Queer Eye for the Straight Guy funeral episode. Katniss scoots off the bed and high-tails it out of the room.

Madge catches on and sighs. "You guys are not riveted by my tremendous fashion sense, are you?"

"Not really. Do I look like a scarf girl to you? Besides, I know what I'm wearing already."

"You do?" She sighs again and flops on the bed. "That was, like, my one job. Will you at least let me take care of your hair?"

My hair. Fuck. I lift a hand self-consciously to the chopped off ends that I haven't thought about…well…since I hacked at them in the bathroom. I can't very well go to the funeral looking like some sort of demented scarecrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Madge flashes a grin, relieved that something she's been planning is useful. "Cinna's friend Tigris owns a salon. I called and explained a bit of what's been going on and she seemed happy to give us an appointment." She pauses before she adds, "Okay, maybe _happy_ isn't the right word. She said she was up for the challenge."

"Thanks," I say sincerely as Katniss comes back into the room carrying a shoe box. She passes it to me, tugging on her braid with her other hand.

I pop open the box before I can second guess myself. I can see immediately why she would be nervous: there's a few photos inside of my family, and a well-worn 'SC Water Polo t-shirt that belonged to Brue. I had loaned it to her one night to sleep in and promptly forgotten about it. Pulling it from the box, I hold the shirt to my nose and breathe deeply, hoping it still smells like him. It doesn't. But I rub my cheek against its softness anyway.

"Jo?" Katniss's voice pulls me back from a thousand and one happy memories. "Are you okay?"

I give them both a watery smile. "I think I will be."

-o—

I'm a wreck the day of the funeral which is why I let Peeta drive. My hands won't stop shaking. Even though I'm not crying, I feel like my insides are going to fly apart at the slightest provocation. I can't even imagine trying to hold it together while I do something crazy, like parallel park for the service. Peeta's subdued all the way to the church, where parking is just as insane as I thought it would be. I can't help but stop when I note the bagpipers in formal dress lining the steps leading to the door of the church.

Peeta takes my elbow to steady me. "We don't have to go in."

"Do you regret the phone call with your dad? The one where you lost it?"

He frowns at the change of topic. "No. I think it helped me, ultimately."

"Exactly. I have to get through this. The pipers startled me, that's all. I'll be okay in a minute." We've come this far. I may dread that last three hundred feet, but I know it won't kill me to travel that distance and spend the next hour remembering a man who meant so much to me. Today is my tribute to him. I smooth my black skirt into place and tuck my baby-pink blouse more securely into the waistband just to have something to do with my hands. Taking a deep breath I say, "Let's go."

It comes out like a vow.

Peeta is steady as a rock. He holds my hand as first Elizabeth, then Brue and a fleet of pall bearers—all in kilts—enter the church carrying a dark wooden casket festooned with a gigantic spray of daisies and heather. Meadow flowers, I note. Angus would be pleased to be remembered with them instead of something fussier. By the time everyone is seated, I feel almost able to handle the service. Almost.

There's a lot of pomp and circumstance: a few readings and songs and a eulogy that's actually pretty tepid, considering Angus and his big personality. That is, until the slim black wraith that is Elizabeth takes the lectern. The crowd goes silent in anticipation as she clears her throat. "Thank you all for coming. I know Angus would love to see you all." Her eyes drift heavenward for a moment, like she expects an acknowledgement from above. When nothing comes, she begins again, "Most of you are here because you either loved Angus or hated him. He was that sort of man: one who inspired loyalty and devotion, or quite the opposite. He was determined. Stubborn. Often unable to let go of a problem until it was resolved to his liking. Most of you know this about him. But, perhaps you don't know how angry he was as a young man. His drive was something darker when I first met him. I distinctly recall the first time I told him he would make a good partner, a good husband. He laughed at me. He could not grasp how that could be possible, or how I could be so wrong where he was concerned. It took me time to wear him down so he could see that I had enough people around me who agreed with me at every turn. I needed someone who valued honesty. I needed _him._

"My older brother tried to scare Angus off the first Christmas we were together. He explained that we're all named for philosophers, fully thinking that my middle name would make Angus look at me like the prissy young thing I was. That backfired, didn't it, Seneca?" She smiles indulgently at a dark haired gentleman in the front row. "Angus told me once that I deserved the middle name Plutarch because I was a good judge of character. He took it as a compliment when I said he was a good man with strong convictions that would serve him well. Someone worth marrying. So what if, after, it took another five years for my family to warm to his particular way of saying exactly what was on his mind?"

We all chuckle.

"Angus taught me the secret to a happy marriage—a happy life, really—is to fight. Not all the time, and not over stupid things. But the stuff that matters to you is worth fighting for and deserves a place in your marriage. You won't win every battle. Winning's not the point. Demand space for yourself, and for the things and people that matter to you. Hold fast to them." She holds a fist against her heart. She takes a breath and looks toward the coffin. I can see that her eyes are damp even from where we sit near the back of the church. "My love, you were magnificent. I will miss that—your passion—most of all. But you gifted me with a wonderful family to enjoy and take care of until it's time for me to join you." She blows him a kiss. Peeta hands me a tissue as we all watch Elizabeth join Angus's coffin. She touches it for a moment, as if she's reaching for his hand, then withdraws to allow the pallbearers room.

I'm okay. Numb, mostly. I barely even need to wipe my eyes.

Until the pallbearers lift the coffin and a lone bagpiper begins "Amazing Grace". By the time Brue and the coffin are even with our pew, I'm crying and shaking badly as I flash back to another, smaller, coffin. Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders. He keeps me tucked against him until the church has emptied and we're the only two left.

"I don't think we should do the graveside service." He rubs my shoulder.

I sob harder, unable to answer. Finally he sits us both down on the pew and lets me cry myself out all over his shirt. When I'm hiccupping wetly, he hands me another of his endless supply of tissues.

"Are you hungry?"

The question makes me laugh, a surprising sound in the vacant space. Even more surprising than the burst of sound is my answer. "Yeah. I think I am."

He stands and pulls me to my feet. "Good. How about we go to Roscoe's for some chicken and waffles?"

I hug him. It's the only thing to do with a friend who knows what you need before you know it yourself.

-o—

Gale and Madge leave. I hug Madge at the goodbye dinner Peeta and Katniss throw for them, mumbling something that I hope sounds like a thank you while I struggle to keep the tears at bay. I think I promise to send her a new bullwhip or something, too. But when Gale pulls me into a bear hug, I can't stop myself from bursting into tears. He rocks me as Finn and Katniss gape, probably at the idea that Gale moving would have me anything but ecstatic. Peeta, Annie, and Madge know better, though. They know that Gale's been a fixture at my place on weekends and that he sometimes drops by during the week as well to take me shooting or for coffee, or just to see how I'm doing.

I owe him.

And I don't even hate it. How fucking twisted is _that?_

I break apart from him with a wet laugh. "Let me know when I can start writing to Posy and sharing all of my secrets."

"Hell will freeze over first." He cups the back of my neck and brings me closer so he can whisper, "You got this."

I nod solemnly. "Piece of cake."

I run a 5K then a half marathon to benefit different causes, half-forcing the geeks at work to help me fundraise. I think one of them must hack something, either that or he posted a nude selfie a day on Tumblr, because I raise over five grand for the half marathon. Running doesn't stop my brain the way shooting does, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment. I'm not running to escape something anymore. I'm running _for_ something. I save the medals and the bibs, and hang them in my room next to the framed pictures that Katniss gave back to me before the funeral.

Wallowing in grief isn't something I allow myself. Work keeps me busy with project _Prometheus._ And, when I feel myself getting maudlin, I hit the range to clear my mind and stay sharp. I get in touch with Dr. Aurelius for a private therapy referral when it gets particularly bad. I'm thrilled to find out that he can take my insurance and we resume biweekly sessions. This time, there's no bullshit. No undermining his instructions. I do what he and I talk about during our visits and it seems to help me maintain control.

I visit the cemetery once a month. Sometimes I bring Scotch. Sometimes I write little notes and leave them. Most of the time, I bring some daisies and a single pink rose for Carys, and tell Angus all about what's going on in my life while I tidy up his grave. He and my sister are somehow linked in my mind. I imagine the two of them walking, hand in hand, as she shows him the ropes around heaven. In return, I can just see the Lion playing catch, or dress-up, or building forts with her. It's a nice scene that seems to keep the nightmares at bay.

I'm not the only one to visit: there's always a little scrap of plaid, a Hot Wheels dump truck, a cigar, or some other treasure lying about. Once, there was even a bagpiper playing something when I arrived and I had to wait my turn. I like the idea that Angus is popular and still involved in people's lives. In so many ways it feels like he's not gone. It's even more comforting to know that we're all holding on in our own way, even as we move forward with new routines. It feels good. Hopeful. Right.

An invitation to the MacLeod Christmas celebration comes in the mail. I have no idea how Elizabeth would have gotten my new address. That is, until I think of Annie or Peeta or Haymitch and my network of weirdly connected friends. I swear that Kevin Bacon is probably hiding in there somewhere. I finger the thickness of the envelope and consider the holidays. It's the first time, ever, that I feel like I'm the one who needs to make plans. And, even though I'd love to see Elizabeth, I can't help but feel that Angus's party isn't where the old man would want me to be.

One nervous phone call later and I check off the "will not attend" box.

Early December hits with a little bit of rain, so I take advantage of the first sunny Sunday to visit Angus. Darkness falls early, even in L.A., so I decide to go before noon—bringing my breakfast and reading a little before running and heading to Peeta's. I'm halfway through my Stan's Doughnuts blueberry crisp, telling Angus all about how the nerds at work managed to get Rory Hawthorne's address at UConn for me, when someone clears their throat and I almost drop my doughnut.

Almost.

"Got another one of those?" Brue asks quietly, respectful of the fact that we're in a cemetery.

"If it isn't Tom Jones. And like I'd share even if I did." I call myself ten times a fool when I hold out a napkin and half the doughnut. I shrug and explain, "You can finish this one because there is no way I'm sharing the custard-filled in the bag."

He takes the treat slowly and settles himself on the grass. I try not to stare. It's only been a few months since I saw him at the funeral, and graduation was only a few before that. It's not like he's had time to change that much. Same dark, curly hair that's just a bit too tousled. Same lean body encased in jeans. Sure, the hair's longer, the beard scruffier than he's ever worn it. I drink him in, anyway, changes or no.

He's the one to break the silence. "You come here often?"

I laugh at the absurdity of something that sounds like a pick up line. He joins in after a second and it feels so good—so natural—just to laugh with him that the months and the hurt almost drop away entirely.

"I meant—"

"I know what you meant." I stop him before he can wreck it. "I'm here once a month or so. Have to keep the old man informed."

He wipes his hands and leans back. "I know what you mean: I come here and talk to him a lot about music, my tour…whatever. It's still hard for me to believe he's gone."

I nod, ignoring the fact that his voice sounds thick with grief. What is there to say? Angus is gone and it blows. It blows huge chunks. There are so many more people who deserve to be gone from this earth than him. But neither Brue nor I make the rules for who gets to live or die, as much I might wish for that to be true.

"I know you and my grandda were close. Thanks for coming to the funeral. It meant a lot to Gran…and to me."

I'm stunned that he even knows I was there. "It was a busy day. I'm surprised you knew Peeta and I were there."

"You're hard to miss. I like the hair, by the way."

"Thanks." I touch the short ends self-consciously. I might tell everyone that keeping it short is about easy-care, but I've confessed to Dr. A. that my short hair is my version of a hair shirt or the red badge of courage. It's a reminder of all I've loved and lost. All I've survived. I know I'm luckier than most to live so long without any scars. My hair is the way I make up for it. "How's Gl—Clarissa? I figured you two would have made an announcement by now."

It's Brue's turn to look startled. "Clarissa and I? God, no. Just…no." He runs his fingers through his hair. "It was momentary insanity on my part."

Fiddling with the doughnut bag, I try to hide my smile. Silence stretches between us.

"How's Cato? I saw you two at Annie and Finn's wedding."

I close my eyes for a second against the idea of Brue witnessing my ultimate relationship low-point. That is, if you can call a quickie in the back of my Honda a "relationship".

Brue mistakes my silence for pain. "Oh, Jo. I'm sorry."

I can't take another second of him actually thinking Cato and I could be together. When I burst out laughing, he looks confused. "You can't possibly think that Cato and I…dated?" I gasp, still laughing at his expression. "I'd hope you'd know me better than _that_ and maybe give me a little benefit of the doubt. What did you call it? Momentary insanity? That's a good term."

He smiles. I smile back.

"How's the tour?" I ask, genuinely curious. I can't imagine Brue living out of a tour bus or a suitcase.

"We haven't really started travelling yet, just playing gigs in California. It's…okay. All the craziness isn't really my scene. If I had to choose, I'd rather be hanging out here, playing at 451. Dad's pretty insistent, though, that an album means touring."

I have to I bite back a comment about how chicks throwing their panties on stage must be exhausting. "What about posting some performances on social media? Couldn't you use that as a way to connect with fans? It worked for Macklemore, Shawn Mendes, and Colbie Caillat." I leave out that I would bookmark the hell out of his YouTube channel.

Brue frowns. "I've been telling him the same thing, but he's pretty adamant about it. You know how our parents are totally resistant to technology. He's lucky he has an assistant to handle email, and a marketing guy for Twitter, or he'd be totally off-the-grid."

I laugh as I think of my dad with his reel-to-reel player. Yeah, tech isn't exactly his strong suit.

"Gran tells me you're not coming to the Christmas Party? She'd really love to see you."

"I won't be in town." I'd love to see Elizabeth, too, but some things are more important. "I'm going home."

Brue looks both confused and relieved. "Home? You mean Orange County?"

I nod. "I think it's time that I spend a little time with the boys before they're not boys anymore. Angus would have approved, don't you think?"

"Oh, absolutely." Brue pauses for a minute, like he wants to add something. Finally, he admits as he rises to his feet and brushes dirt off his jeans, "I'm glad you're not skipping the party because of me."

I should probably be irked by his ego, but I'm not. I don't know if I would have had the guts to go even if I weren't heading to the O.C. "Nope. You're off the hook. Are you heading out?"

"Yeah. I've got to get back to the studio. I'm glad I ran into you out here. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"I'd like that."

He grins and waves as he makes his way back to his car.

I smile like I'm in a Taylor Swift's song. And when I listen to Brue's album later that night, I don't even feel like a total creeper.

Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of activity. I spend quality time with Mom, Dad and each of the boys, relishing every single dance on the kitchen floor we didn't have before. Mom and I even go for a full day of beauty on my dime. It's so good to see them, even if I feel like I don't quite belong. But I fight to make sure that I have no regrets when the trip ends and I head back to my normal routine in L.A.

As for Brue, I think of him at the oddest times. I listen to him sing while I do everything from shower to run. Which is why, a week after New Year's, I hit the internet when I can't sleep, hoping for a new version or a bootleg or _something_ different in the Brue category. It only takes a few keystrokes to find a new video of him, performing in what look like a hotel room. From the looks of his unkempt hair and how tired he looks, it's late when he recorded it. Probably almost as late as it is for me. I take it as an omen that I'm meant to watch it.

I hit play.

Brue crosses in front of the camera a couple of times before settling on a chair with a guitar. Did I know he played guitar as well as piano? I shove that thought aside as he smiles disarmingly, almost shyly, and strums his fingers across the strings. I want to eat him up. He looks comfortably weary, and his voice is a little raspy when he speaks, like maybe he's performed recently. "Hi, there and Happy New Year! Welcome to my first unauthorized and unplugged video. A couple of months ago, a friend of mine suggested that I make some of these to connect with my fans. And, even though my dad will freak out when he sees this, I decided to take her suggestion." He looks down at the strings. "The truth is that I miss her. I've been thinking a lot about her lately and I can't seem to get her out of my head. So…this song is for her." He smirks for a second. "I'm sure she's expecting Otis Redding or Bill Withers, but I this is something that reminds me of the two of us and how we are when we're together. I hope you like it."

What follows is an acoustic version of Howie Day's "Collide". Even if I didn't know the words, I'd tear up just from how beautiful Brue looks. Hi voice is smooth and quiet as it washes over me. I let it take me back to a million happy memories of us running together, laughing over some dumb thing Finn did, studying late at night at the frat, and just hanging out. I miss him more in that moment than I have at any other time since our break up. Tears well in my eyes when he finishes, looks at the camera, and says, "Happy New Year, Jo."

I bookmark the video and sit for a long time, staring at the comments screen. Finally, at a loss for what to write, I close the browser and head to bed.

-o—

"Madge! You guys are back!" I grab her around the shoulders and spin her around, not quite believing that she's standing in front of me. It's a beautiful night in early June, and we're standing outside Moose McGillacuddy's, a bar on the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade to celebrate the end of Madge and Gale's first year back east. It's also a belated birthday night out for Katniss. Annie's probably celebrating not having killed Finn this year. And me? I'm celebrating just being alive, healthy, and celibate. I haven't had sex with someone since Halloween and I feel pretty good about it.

It's so weird, right?

The blonde, gorgeous in a red dress with a plunging back, swats me with her purse. "Of course we're back. We're here the whole summer. Did you really think we could stay away? L.A. is where my girls are." She gives me a saucy wink.

I laugh. It's partly the bubble of happiness I feel just from seeing her again, but it's also partly relief that I was wrong about Madge and Gale choosing his family over us.

"They're staying at 451 in the extra loft. If you came by more, or had met us there like we agreed, you'd have seen Madge and Gale already." Katniss raises a brow, trying to get a reaction out of me. Her tapping foot draws attention to her adorable half boots and her arms cross in front of her.

Her pissiness doesn't work. Tonight's already too much fun for little-Miss-Scowly-face to get a rise. "I've been busy with work. Besides, I come by a couple of times a week!"

"Can we fight about this later? My feet hurt in these shoes." Annie gestures to the stilettos she's paired with a sparkly, silver sequined mini dress. She looks adorable, and completely unrecognizable as the mother of an active sea urchin under five. Just looking at those heels, though, makes my feet hurt on her behalf.

"You get that we're dancing tonight, Annie, right? What made you decide to wear torture devices on your feet?"

Annie smiles slyly. "Finn really likes them."

I fake-gag. "Let me get this straight: you're willing to be a boat anchor for our table just because those shoes are maybe going to get you laid later with the exact same guy you've been banging for the last four years? You get that's not healthy, right? Let's grab beers."

I motion everyone over to the bar, where Katniss does this cool whistle that immediately gets the attention of the bartender. She may piss me off sometimes, but she definitely has her uses. We order, then fight our way through the Thursday night throng to a table.

Annie doesn't let my earlier jab go. "Did you just try to tell me my marriage bed isn't healthy? You? The girl who had sex with Cato?"

I grimace at her direct hit. "Why do you guys have to keep bringing that up? It's not like I took him home or anything. We had sex _one time_. That barely even counts. It was like trial sex. I tried him and then I sent him back."

Madge smiles over the lip of her Arena Brewing bottle. Honestly, you'd think we'd branch out when we're not at 451, but we're all pretty monogamous to Peeta's beers. We're drinking _If You're Hoppy and You Know It…_ tonight. "And why, exactly, did you throw Cato back in the water? I'm curious what you wrote on his customer service survey besides the fact that he's a still a douche after four years?"

Katniss doesn't even let me open my mouth. "Size. I'll bet he's too small."

"We don't all need elephant-dicks like Peeta's." I shudder. "Bigger isn't better."

"It is if he knows how to use it." Katniss, Annie, and Madge clink bottles. I'm so fucking envious of how satisfied they all look.

Madge looks my way again. "So, what exactly was his problem if he passed the 'you must be this tall to ride this ride' test?"

I grimace because I know I'm not getting out of answering this question. Frankly, I'm stunned that it's taken them a year to corner me over the stunning show of bad judgment I showed at Finn and Annie's wedding. I keep my answer succinct. "Cockhammer."

"I'm sorry. What?" Annie leans across the table like she didn't hear. "What's a cockhammer?"

"It's when a guy only moves his hips in one plane with really quick, short thrusts. Like his hips are a jackhammer."

"And that's bad?"

I level a stare in her direction. "Annie, why do you think we put up with guys writing their names when they pee while camping? Hip action. Hips move side to side, in and out, and all manner of around and around."

Madge nods sagely. "Hip action is pretty important. Gale can do this thing—"

I cut her off with a raised hand. "We don't need to know about Hawthorne's hungry, hungry hard-on."

Annie's eyes light up. "Oh! I get it! Like when Finn—"

I point at her. "That goes double for you. Finn's fantastic friction needs to stay under the covers. Besides, your judgment is questionable just for having sex with a ginger." For good measure, I look at Katniss. "And don't _you_ think about sharing next. The last thing we all need to hear about is The Mellar-ness Monster, or his magnificent moves." I don't mention it to Katniss but I give the guy a lot of credit for those moves. It's not like he learned them from watching his witch-of-a-mother with his dad.

Katniss finishes a swig of her beer before she points the mouth of the bottle in my direction. "And here I thought I was the pure one. When did you turn into such a prude?"

I gape. "Prude? Me? That's rich. This is coming from a woman who, once upon a time, thought _deep throat_ was the name of a cold and flu remedy."

Katniss glares. "Don't get snippy with me. Just because your last relationship required a power outlet—"

"That's not true. My last relationship was a one-night stand, which is still a relationship. To quote John Green, there are infinite numbers between zero and one and some infinities are bigger than other infinities. I give them forever within a limited number of hours."

"Ladies!" Madge holds a hand in the air between us. "I didn't come three thousand miles to listen to you two bicker." She turns to me with a grin. "And that, Jo, is the strangest bit of logic I've ever heard. God, I've missed you. Let's get another round."

Several rounds later, Annie's hanging out at our table where we join her between breathless bouts of dancing. Madge rounds on me with a flushed face and slurs, "I have a question. Are you saying that you never miss waking up next to someone? Rubbing your feet up against their legs, feeling their hands stroke your back?"

Annie's eyes glow bright, probably from the beers she's unaccustomed to drinking. "Or cuddling with them right before falling to sleep?"

"Or someone tucking you in when they have to get up first so that you can get five or ten more minutes?" Katniss adds.

They all suck. Really. Because, yeah, here's a news flash: I do miss those things. But I've only had them with one guy. All thing considered, I'd rather hold out and wait for the right guy again than to waste all that time and effort dressing up and pretending to be someone I'm not with some a guy who'll barely take the time to get to know me. Let's face it: guys in their twenties who ask me out want to get laid, not have a relationship. I'd rather settle for my Hitachi over that right now. Now, I'm not saying that a hot cowboy with a set of custom spurs, rope, and a riding crop wouldn't lure me into doing things that only Madge would appreciate. Just that I don't feel like it's worth my energy right now. My friends expect a certain level of interest from me, though, and I'm happy to provide my own unique perspective. "Sure, Brian running his hands up and down my back was nice. But you know what's nicer? No sleeping in the wet spot, or cleaning my sheets afterward. No one leaves my toilet seat up. I get the remote all to myself and no one fucks with my TiVo or looks at my browser history."

Madge nods begrudgingly. I'm sure she's learned this past year exactly how much of a pain in the ass having an Alpha guy in your personal living space can be. "You do have a point on the TiVo."

"Damn straight I do." We raise our bottles and clink them before we finish the round, clapping twice after our bottles hit the table. Why? Because the name of the beer is _If You're Hoppy and You Know It_ … for a reason. And I am: surrounded by my friends, I feel great.

Katniss levels me with a shrewd glance. "I call bullshit. I don't think you're getting laid at all. I think your last one-night stand was Cato. And, furthermore, I'm going on-record as saying that you're hung up on Brue. Don't think I don't know what's on your phone playlists. You've got one that's just his new album and I happen to know it's queued up a lot."

My mouth drops open, but I recover from my surprise quickly. She may have shot an arrow with accuracy this time, but I'm not above shooting back. "That's a pretty ballsy statement, Ms. Everdeen. Are you sure you're not projecting your commitment-phobia? How many times has Peeta proposed since New Year's?"

I know I've hit a nerve when she scowls. "Fuck you, Jo. I'm gonna love it when Gale wipes the floor with you."

"He better not come at me while I'm wearing this top: it cost more than my rent." Motioning to my multi-color Hermes halter, I pause to peel the label off a beer bottle. I'm such a pro that it comes off in one sheet. "You're still holding a grudge, huh?"

"My little sister, my _innocent_ little sister, had a pregnancy scare because of you."

I scoff. "Come on, Brainless. How was I supposed to know that finding Rory's school address and shipping him a copy of the Mellark bible would lead to him and Prim going at it like bunnies and becoming a victim of a condom quality incident? How do you know he wasn't _already_ putting thorns on her primrose before it got there? She wasn't going to be a virgin forever."

"She's eighteen. And she's my baby sister, Jo. Surely you can understand how I might be pissed?"

I ignore the twinge of guilt I feel over the fact that Prim's not that much older than Carys would have been. And, if someone had tried to knock up my baby sister, I would have knocked out his teeth. But Rory's a great guy and he and Prim aren't exactly a surprise. And there's no use crying over spilt…well…you get the idea. "Need I remind you what you were doing at eighteen? Besides, it's tradition. Peeta got his copy during our freshman year. The whole thing was a teachable moment. Which, I might add, Gale handled better than you did. At least he didn't totally freak out. Sam didn't totally wreck life for Annie. I'm sure the world would be happy to welcome another Hawthorne." I give an exaggerated shudder before hopping off the barstool and gathering the empties. "I'm gonna get another round by way of checking out the other side of the club. I swear, I think I saw R. Kelly." I waggle my eyebrows.

"Isn't he too old for you?" Annie asks while chewing her bottom lip. It's like she knows that I'm going to ask for him to autograph my underwear since I don't have any paper handy.

"You're kidding, right? If anything, I'm too old for _him._ Anyone want to come with?" I toss the question over my shoulder while I warm up my swagger.

-o—

"I missed you!" Annie squeals, before Finn grabs her around the waist and lays a huge kiss on her. She giggles, a testament to how drunk she really is. I'm suddenly glad that Madge, Annie, and Katniss had a driver waiting for them, even if I cracked _Driving Miss Daisy_ jokes for most of the night. Peeta and Gale spill into the great room from the deck and Peeta grabs Katniss in a messy lip-lock.

"Get a room, you two!" I snort.

"We have one right down the hall." Finn raises his head from Annie's and winks. "Too bad you guys crashing here tonight at _Casa Odesta_ is going to wreck my good time."

"Casa Odesta?" Madge asks, pushing her small travel bag up against the wall and out of the way.

Finn grins. It's the same wide smile he used recently on the cover of G.Q. "That's our Hollywood name."

I drop my small overnight bag just inside the door next to Madge's. "You're not going to make us go to another wedding just so you can claim this new name, are you? I don't think I could live through a third one, let alone find another dress."

He shrugs, one well-defined shoulder rippling beneath his Under Armour t-shirt. "Why not? We did get some amazing gifts at the last one." He holds his palms out, gesturing at the great room of the house Finn's dad and the Crestas bought for Annie and Finn after their second wedding last year. It's right on the beach in the Pacific Palisades and, although it's on the smaller side, it's conveniently located next to another larger home of the Crestas. Annie's mentioned a few times that her super-hot uncle stays there whenever he's in town. She'd told us at the bar that he and her grandmother are there now on holiday and keeping Sam overnight. Part of me is touched that Annie and Finn have given up couples-time to party with the rest of us. Another part of me justifies that they can see each other any time because…hey… _married._

"Jo!" Gale grabs me in a headlock and gives me a noogie. Hard. As he turns away, I can't help but ask, "Did you give your brother a high-five yet for having better game than you do?" He laughs, which earns him a squinty-eyed glare from Katniss, who's still kissing Peeta. "Wait until you see what I got Posy for her birthday."

He kisses Madge chastely on the lips, then crosses back to me. Taking my arm, he pulls me aside and whispers, "If you don't stop talking about the Prim and Rory incident, I'm not taking you to that doughnuts and Chinese food place you love so much while I'm here. Besides, Katniss is ready to fillet us both. And there is no way on God's green earth that I'm letting any of my siblings open another Jo Mason care package."

"Katniss'll get over it, eventually. Did I tell you that my dad mixed her a CD for her birthday? He doesn't even do that for me." I roll my eyes and try to act wounded, even though I think it's adorable that my dad remembers Katniss's music appreciation from when she used to come to the O.C. "I'm sure she'll forget all about Prim while she listens to some golden oldies. Doesn't bad music kill brain cells?"

As if on cue, Finn's sound system belts out Paul Simon and an unexpected arrival crosses from the outside darkness into the light. I gape, totally speechless, as Brue hugs Annie, Katniss, and Madge. When he gets to me, he shoves his hands in his front pockets as if he can't quite decide what to do with them. "Hi, Jo."

I swallow. "MacLeod."

"Is me being here okay? I wasn't sure if your 'See you around' was rhetorical or not, so I decided to play the odds. Finn called to let me know that Madge and Gale were back in town and swore it wouldn't be a problem—"

"It's not." I can't help but give him a once-over. Life on the road has been good to him. He's filled out. Stronger thighs and tight buns fill out jeans that used to hang on rangy hips. I think I see chest hair peeking out from his waffle-weave Henley. Being this close to him suddenly seems like a terrible idea and I look around for a friend who can distract me, but they've all bailed for the fire pit on the deck.

Traitors.

"You look great. Pink's a great color on you. I don't remember you wearing it much, except maybe freshman year. And your hair—you kept it short? I thought you might grow it out over the winter. "

I lift a hand to my head. "Yeah. It's easier. Although sometimes I miss my ponytail. And you know what they say about pink this year—it's the new red. Even Effie says so." My chuckle sounds forced, even to my own ears and I pause before filling the awkward silence. "Touring seems to agree with you."

He flushes at the compliment. "Thanks. In some ways it's a great experience. Lots of new cities, amazing food, great music…I'm babbling." He is. It's so unlike him that I can't stop smiling at him. He steps closer which makes my heart barrel roll.

I blurt, "You've filled out."

"You think so?" He looks down at his chest and misses the small step I take toward him. We're close enough to touch, which he notices the second his eyes focus on something other than his own shirt. "I worked out while we were traveling. I didn't get to swim much, though." His voice is soft, wistful.

Keeping track of the conversation becomes tough as my hand moves with a mind of its own to rest on his arm. The soft cotton of his shirt hugs the tight muscles of his forearms and I can feel them bunch under my fingertips. "That's too bad."

I'm never sure who begins swaying to the music, or if our dancing starts before or after Brue's hands slide up my arms. All I know is that we're moving in time to the music while he gathers me closer. And I let him. I tuck right into his embrace as if against his heart is the most natural place in the world for me to be.

"What's up with you and Gale?" he murmurs against my forehead. "It's weird seeing you guys be civil."

I tense at the question, remembering his misunderstanding about Finn from years ago. He must anticipate my reaction, though, because his hands rub comforting circles against my back. That doesn't stop me from snapping out, "We're friends."

"I know. But I was really looking forward to a few 'kitten' jokes. I've missed your sarcasm. You wouldn't believe how sycophantic everyone was on tour." He chuckles softly.

I can't resist ribbing him. "Ah, poor Brue. All those girls chucking their panties on stage must be such a drag."

"You have no idea. But not a single girl was smart enough to put her phone number on them."

"Well, not everyone's that creative. Although even I've been off my game lately." I look up at him from under my lashes before I admit, "I couldn't think of a single quip to leave on your YouTube video."

It's his turn to stiffen and step away. "You watched it? Jo, I—"

The screen door slams open. "Are you two coming, or what? Peeta says we can't have s'mores until everyone is outside." Katniss glares from me to Brue and back again before turning and shouting to the crew outside, "I do not care that they are having a moment! I want chocolate."

Brue seems torn between our friends and whatever he was going to say. Finally, he nods. "We should go."

"Yeah." I let him lead me out the door, shooting a death-glance toward Everdeen when I pass her. She gloats.

The rest of the night is a blur of the fire pit, soft music, laughter, and way, way, way too much chocolate. Who knew that was even possible? Peeta had the guys put out all sorts of stuff so we could make designer s'mores. There's graham crackers in plain and cinnamon and giant marshmallows to start. Peeta's nothing but an overachiever, though, and he's also thought to bring peanut butter cups, Heath and Chunky Bars, Mexican chocolate, Nutella, bananas, Ghirardelli squares in caramel, dark, milk, and cherry…you name it. The absolute winner for the night, though, is the Vosges Smoke & Stout Caramel bar, paired with plain grahams and a marshmallow toasted to a deep, nutty brown. Biting into it is pure heaven.

Peeta only brought two of those bars because they cost the earth. Finn and I end up wrestling over them. "Don't mess up the blouse, Brainless."

"Or what?" He wraps his arm around my neck for a head lock while holding the chocolate bar above my head in his other hand.

I easily side step his move, returning the head lock attempt and making a grab for chocolate perfection. "Or I'll leak to a tabloids that you use Sun-In."

He shoots a pained look at Annie, who has the sense to look sheepish.

Gale saunters over while Finn and I are distracted and grabs the bar. Damn his freakish height. With a chuckle and a bow, he says, "And that, my friends, is how it's done. You see something you want, you just grab it."

I punch his arm. "Fuck you, Gale."

He winks. "To the victor goes the spoils." Crossing over to Madge, he carefully breaks off a piece of chocolate for himself and hands her the rest.

"You are so whipped, man." Finn grumbles. "Might as well strip you to the waist and put you in the center of town while she does it."

"He'd probably like that." I flop back onto the chaise.

Gale just grins and licks caramel-stout goo off his fingers. "Like you wouldn't have shared with Annie?"

Finn disagrees, which prompts Annie to smear toasted marshmallow all over his face. Katniss throws a couple at his head in solidarity and it quickly devolves into a food fight. I'm glad we're outside as bits of graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallows fly everywhere. Even Peeta's in the spirit, although I don't know what sort of damage he expects from nonpareils. Maybe scratch a cornea?

While I watch from the sidelines, Finn entreats, "Jo! Help?"

"No can do, Finn. Can't get this blouse dirty. Besides, I'm with Annie on this one."

"Our friendship is worth less than a shirt?" Gale, Mr. Loyalty himself, comes to Finn's rescue. Evidently, four against one aren't odds he likes.

I chastise in my best Effie imitation, "Couture, guys. Couture."

"Sisters before misters," Madge agrees, throwing her arm around my shoulder. I almost miss the open jar of Mrs. Richardson's Butterscotch Caramel she holds in her other hand. She must have snuck into the kitchen and gotten it from Finn's stash of ice cream toppings when none of us were looking. Not a word needs to be said for me to understand that she'll need to get closer to Finn to make it count.

So I huff loudly. "All-right, Finn. Since you have been such an amazing friend over the years, I suppose I can switch sides. Just for tonight." Gingerly, I pick ammo from the deck and chuck it vaguely in Annie's direction. Nothing hits her, of course. Katniss glares at me like I'm a huge traitor, though, while Madge slinks, mostly forgotten, toward Finn and Gale behind enemy lines.

When she's close enough that she's assured victory, she reaches into the bottle with her bare hand and smears some of the mess through Finn's hair and over his face. She turns to Gale and repeats the act before he can react, this time making sure she liberally coats his neck and down the front of his shirt. He squeals like he's reenacting a scene from _Deliverance._

I shudder with a post-traumatic stress flashback of Brian and the Hershey's syrup freshman year. I hope Finn has a super-duper washer and the most amazing shower water pressure on the planet, or he'll smell like caramel for a month. I would know. As it is, Gale's shirt may be a goner.

So we take the party inside where Peeta prudently makes warm tea for all of us. I change into sweats and a t-shirt while everyone else hoses off, then opt for a glass of red wine paired with a slab of Peeta's homemade shortbread.

I've just bitten into the reassuringly crunchy yet somehow still velvety slice of heaven when Brue clears his throat. "Nice shirt."

I wash a bit down my throat with the mellow Merlot I've been drinking since we got here, then touch the soft cotton. I don't think I'm mistaking the question in his eyes, but I'm still trying to play it cool. "This old thing? It belonged to some guy in college."

"Some guy, huh? You're lucky he didn't keep it, if you find him so unmemorable."

"Oh, he has lots of them. I don't think he'll miss it." I let my eyes wander over his muscular arms, strong shoulders, down the natural "v" of his waist to his hips. "Besides, I don't think it would fit anymore. He's gotten a little fat."

One eyebrow shoots up. "Fat? I don't think so." His eyes roam over me in kind and my pulse kicks at all the places his gaze lingers. "It probably does look better on you, though."

I blush before I even register his words and my mouth goes dry at the risk I'm about to take. "Thanks. I've missed you." Then, because I've already practically put my foot in my mouth, I go all-in. "It's so good to see you. I thought, with you being on tour, that would be the end of it and I'd never see you again."

I expect a laugh, but I should know that Brue was always the serious one. He shakes his head. "I'd never let that be the end of us. You're too important for me to let slip away like that."

My eyes fall to my glass, where I trace a droplet around the rim with a finger. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"I'd rather have the memories and the scars that go with them than neither. You make it sound like I didn't have a part in our relationship at all. I made choices, Jo. I knew what I was getting into—what a little hell-fire you were."

"Were?"

"Are." He grins. "Your particular brand of crazy was what made you irresistible. It would be shame if you've changed so much."

I frown. "I'm trying to be more accepting and have more heart. Less need for control. It's a struggle."

"Not that my opinion matters but I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You're perfect just the way you are." He looks toward the window where the black ocean gives way to the green and white froth of the breaking waves. "I was thinking of inviting everyone out on my boat for the fourth. Maybe we could head to Catalina, do some snorkeling or diving, fish, whatever. Would you come?" His gaze swings back to me.

I swallow hard. If I'm not mistaking it, there's more to his offer than just a friendly camping trip. Do I want that? Do I want Brue back? It seems like a question with an obvious answer, but I'm still cautious. "You know I still hate to swim, right? So how would that work?"

He shrugs. "You stay on deck while I'm in the water. We'll make it work."

"Like _The Little Mermaid?_ " When he nods, I can't help recalling his stricken face in the storage room after the last time we had sex. "You know that she dies in every version but Disney's."

"Like I said, Jo, I know the risks. Just…come. Please?"

I'm sure I'll call myself eighty different kinds of idiot later. But right now, with that imploring look on his face and a dark curl flopping over his forehead, I get why love is so weird. "Ok."


	45. To Boldly Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. Chapter 46 is acknowledgements. Also, it's long. Settle in and buckle up.  
> Thank you so much for reading.

"Well will you look at that? There's something you don't see every day." Gale whistles long and low. "I feel like one of us should start singing Celine Dion."

Madge and Gale were nice enough to carpool with me to San Pedro where we're meeting Brue and the rest of our posse on what's turned out to be a quintessential California day. It's warm and relatively dry for the coast. The sunlight is tangerine colored, so thick you can almost taste it. It's the sort of day that makes you think of convertibles with the top down, throwing back your head and singing at the top of your lungs with your hands in the air. It's the perfect day for hanging out with friends. Now that we're at the marina, I'm doubly glad they're here. Because there's no way I would have ever stopped in front of the boat—yacht, really—that we're staring at with wide eyes. It's easily fifty feet long, if not more. Only the name tells me we're in the right place.

_Highlander._ Of course.

"Brue's boat has a boat. Are you sure he's not compensating for something?" Madge joins us. I shoot her a dirty look, which just gets me a laugh and a ponytail toss.

Gale laughs, too. "I think it's called a tender, which sounds even more pornographic. Come on. Let's see if anyone's aboard."

We don't have too far to go before Katniss intercepts us, looking panicked and pulling a flustered Annie behind her. "Guys, can I talk to you for a second?" She's practically wringing her hands, so I stay behind to check out what's got her all aflutter. Because let's face it: Katniss Everdeen is very rarely aflutter.

"What's going on?" I happily hand my bag to Gale, who gets shooed away from our estrogen-fest by Madge.

Katniss tugs her braid hard enough that I'm afraid it will come right off. "Peeta proposed."

"Again?" Madge and I say together. She sounds more sympathetic than I do.

Annie fills the awkward silence that follows. "Katniss, you should say yes."

"Annie, not every person on the planet needs to be married." I roll my eyes.

"And not every marriage is _happy._ " Leave it to Madge to state it so succinctly. I'm lucky, really: my parents are together and can still stand the sight of each other. Out of all of our circle of friends, I'm the only one who's got it so good.

"Hear me out," Annie says softly, voice melding with the gulls and the breeze blowing off the water. "I love you guys and I want you to be happy. I've seen what Gale and Peeta and even Brue do for you."

I choke. "I'm sorry, but did you just say _Brue?_ Because we're not even in a relationship."

"You're here, aren't you?" Annie cocks an eyebrow.

She's got a point.

Katniss shakes her head. "Peeta and I are happy the way we are. I don't understand why he wants more."

"Because he loves you? Because you're better with each other than without? Because you have a thriving business—and a life, I might add—together?" Annie ticks off the inevitable reasons on her hands. "Because he gives you hope that the future isn't terrible and you show him that he's got worth?"

We're all silent.

Annie continues relentlessly. For someone who's so soft spoken, she goes right for the jugular. "No one is saying you have to get married tomorrow. I'm just saying that you should think about it. Can you picture your life without him? Because if the answer to that is no, then you should consider what that really means."

Madge clears her throat. "I think we should shelve this discussion. Let's get on board the Love Boat over there and see what the weekend has in store for us."

"I love you guys. I mean that." Annie throws her arms wide, like she wants a group hug.

"Johanna!" Peeta's strident voice breaks up the ensuing Hallmark moment. "You had better get your ass up here and explain this!"

"What's up?" Katniss swings wide, worried eyes to me. I'm sure she's thinking of ways to eviscerate me if I've played yet another prank on Prim or Rory.

I grin. She has nothing to worry about. "I might have tried to smuggle Cinnabons in my duffle bag."

"Oh, Jo," she breathes. "You know that's just going to set him off. Why do you do stuff like that?"

I throw my arm around her shoulders, dragging her toward the gangway. "Relax, Brainless. I'm using them as a decoy. They're covering for the contraband Entenmann's iced devil's food cake that's in my laptop bag. And if you're really nice to me, I might let you have some."

She pushes me away so forcefully that I almost stagger off the dock. "You are such an idiot, you know that? We're on a boat and there's nowhere to hide. He'd smell it on my breath for sure."

"Suit yourself. But I'll wrap a piece up for you just in case." I shrug and swagger my way to meet my fate.

Brue meets us on the deck wearing white board shorts and nothing else. Have I mentioned that he's filled out a bit? Well, those shorts don't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, I don't recall him looking quite so…luscious. Maybe it's the fact that he now has chest hair that's grown in for longer than a few months. Or maybe it's his smile when he spots me. Like I'm the one Christmas gift under the tree he's been looking for all year. Whatever it is, I don't think it's the subtle movement of the deck below my feet that has me feeling like my knees have turned to jelly.

"Hey. Glad you could make it! Now that we're all on board, let me introduce you to our captain. This is Quint Chaff. He'll be taking care of us while we're on board." Brue points toward a medium-height, leathery-skinned guy with piercing blue eyes wearing a cap. The man salutes us with a prosthetic arm that ends in a hook.

"Wait. You mean you don't pilot this thing?" Finn looks crestfallen. "I was hoping you'd let me take her out for a spin."

I interject. "Finn, the only person on board who can manage something this big is Peeta. Right, Brainless?" I fake punch Katniss. She swats at me in return while Peeta flushes.

"It's not the size of the boat, Jo. It's the motion of the ocean." Finn grins and makes a wave motion with his hand.

"You would know." I stick my tongue out, which Finn lunges forward to grab.

Brue smiles at both of our antics. "I'm sure Quint will let you hold the wheel for a few minutes if you ask nicely. Right?"

"I sure could use a hand. Get it?" The older guy laughs at his own joke as he chews a bite of a Cinnabon that I'm sure is mine. He must have gotten it from Peeta when he confiscated it from my bag. When he wipes his hand on his faded cargo shorts, I realize why he seems so familiar: he's like a less wealthy, less drunk, more sun-worn version of Haymitch. If Haymitch were a pirate. "If it's alright with you, I think we're ready to cast off and head out. It should take us a couple of hours to reach Avalon."

"Sure thing. I'll get everyone settled in their cabins." Brue turns to us. "Follow me."

Brue takes us through the main cabin, which looks something like a cross between a really huge R.V. and a boardroom: there's lots of wood everywhere, custom cabinetry hides who-knows-what sort of stuff, and every surface is tidy and gleams. A deep-pile area rug softens the harshness of the floors between two large couches that look more comfortable than purely serviceable. We climb up a couple of steps into the galley and the helm. Again, every surface is spotless except for a couple of bags I'm sure Peeta must have brought on board. He makes a noise like he's itching to get to work but Katniss shushes him before Brue leads us downstairs.

"I thought that I would give Annie and Finn the master cabin. Gale, you may want to fight it out with Finn, though, since it has a king-sized bed and you're taller. There's another stateroom with a queen bed at the bow. And, sorry, but the rest of the rooms have twins."

"You mean each couple gets their own room?" Gale's aghast. He and I both figured we'd be sleeping in a tent or something. The accommodations here below deck are nicer than the 'SC dorms.

"Yeah. Except for Jo. She's in a single." To me he says, "Sorry about that, but you'll be bunking in the office. The couch there converts to a twin bed."

I nod, because it's better than the floor and I'm not an idiot. But the teeny, tiny part of me that can't stop looking at his happy trail is disappointed that he didn't find a reason for the two of us to bunk together.

"Wait. What about you?" Peeta asks.

"I figure I'll sack out upstairs on a couch." Brue shrugs. Briskly, he shows everyone bathroom facilities and how to work them, where the extra towels are, and answers every question Finn has about the boat.

I don't even pay attention until he says my name. When I realize that he and I are the only two standing in the hallway I can't help but ask, "Where'd everyone go?"

"They're changing into their swimsuits, I guess. Getting settled."

I motion to the stateroom where Gale and Madge disappeared. "I hope there's a spot for them to hook their handcuffs."

Brue laughs, white teeth flashing. "Come on. Let me show you how to convert your berth."

"Look at you, all nautical." I flirt brazenly while he closes the pocket door and encloses us in the small space. There's barely room for the two of us to stand, and that's with the bed still folded into a couch. I take it as a sign that he might not have been rejecting me when he came up with this sleeping arrangement and step closer.

His hands close around my arms, stroke up to my shoulders and back down. "This boat was his, you know. Grandda's. He loved it here and used to spend time just hanging out on the boat, 'fishing.' I still think that was code for sitting around drinking scotch, maybe playing poker with some of his boat buddies from the marina. Judging by all the bottles Gran and I tossed when we cleaned the place, that's not far off." He rubs my arms again. I'm not sure whether he's trying to comfort me or himself. "He left something for you."

"What?" I croak out at the same time as Brue bends to a lower drawer, opens it, and pulls out a small box and an envelope.

He refuses to meet my eyes as he hands it to me. "I'll show you the bunk trick later. Why don't you take some time to check this out and meet us up top when you're ready?"

He's just in time. Annie and Finn pound up the stairs. I can hear Finn telling her that he doesn't want to miss it when we disembark because he wants to wave to the people on the dock like he's a celebrity. I want to punch him on the shoulder and tell him he _is_ a celebrity, but my entire being is focused on the box in my hand. I barely hear the pocket door open and Brue slip out before I sink to the couch. What the hell is in the box?

I can't take it anymore and rip open the envelope to find a graduation card. My eyes flit over Angus's distinctive script before returning to the beginning.

_Dear Johanna,_

_Congratulations on your graduation, lass! Now comes the good part. Remember that, when it seems like things are going poorly. They will sometimes. I don't think anyone tells ye that when ye're younger: that life can grab ye by the balls and not let go. When that happens, ye grab it right back! Like it or not, some of us are made to be fighters, Johanna. We canna let life beat us because we just don't have it in us to give up hope. So ye hold fast, no matter what may come. The day we stop fighting is the day we stop drawing breath._

_You hold fast to yer friends, too. They'll stand ye in good stead, along with yer grit, determination, and humor. And don't forget about my grandson, rascal that he is. I know that ship has sailed, but I can't help but feel like the two of ye have unfinished business. I can feel it in my bones, sure as I can feel it when the Santa Anas blow._

_I've decided something else on this auspicious occasion. As the MacLeod, and leader of my clan, I get to choose the members. And I choose ye. Ye, Johanna Mason, are as brave and loyal and foolish as they come. Ye're not blood, but I wish to God ye were. We have a MacLeod tradition that men receive a special gift to signify their majority. I realize ye're not a man, but ye've fought harder for what you want in life than most young MacLeods._

_I'll write one last thing, since Elizabeth says this is an occasion where I'm supposed to impart my wisdom. Laughter heals. Remember that, Johanna._

_Hold fast,_

_Angus_

I stare at the words on the page for a minute before carefully folding it back into the envelope. The small box mocks me. I wouldn't put it past Angus to gift almost anything: a flask, a money clip, a pen, a watch, or even a belt buckle all come to mind. Yet I don't think it's any of those things. Unable to handle the suspense, I snap the hinged lid open. On a bed of white satin rests a finely wrought pewter pin comprised of a circle of lavender bisected by an ax that looks just like the one I tossed in the Highland Games. The MacLeod motto floats on the upper arch. A small card included in the box describes how to wear and care for my new kilt pin.

A kilt pin.

And I don't even have a kilt.

I drop my head as a laugh bubbles up from deep inside to replace my tears. "Oh, Angus," I murmur, "what do I do with this?"

It's a while before I make my way on deck. We've long since passed the San Pedro buoys with their sea lions barking like watchdogs and the sun sets over the open water in a flamboyant display that rivals the Hollywood's most expensive special effects. Everyone's gathered around the table, munching on some sort of tapenade that Peeta's paired with homemade chipotle Asiago shortbread; soft, buttery pretzels; and vegetables with dip. They're all drinking Arena Brewing Company beer.

I'm thirsty just watching them.

Finn spots me. "Jo! You missed it! Peeta's pretty sure he saw a shark!" He laughs and scoots over on the bench seat side of the table so I can slide in next to him. Gale passes me a beer and a plate without me even having to ask. I've got to hand it to Madge for training him well: he's handier than a Bernese mountain dog during a snow rescue.

Peeta blushes bright red. Given how hot it is outside, how bright the sun is, and how very pale he is, I hope someone brought SPF-all-of-them. Otherwise, the poor boy might end up that color for real by the end of the trip. "I didn't say it was a _shark._ I said it _looked_ like a shark."

Annie nods sagely. "It was probably a dolphin. They love to ride the pressure wave at the bow." Given that she comes from a long line of shipping magnates, she would know better than the rest of us.

Quint hollers down from the helm next to the galley, "Girlie there is right. Besides, Highlander is a solid vessel; One hundred twenty thousand pounds of displacement, almost seventy seven feet from bow to stern. A critter or two won't bother us at all."

"So you're saying we won't need a bigger boat?" I can't help but ask.

The older man barks a raspy laugh—the kind that only comes from hard living and lots of drinking—which makes me question whether he and Haymitch might have more in common than I thought. "No. I don't think we're going to need a bigger boat. Nothing's going to sneak up on this stately gal. Not with all the technology Mr. MacLeod—God rest his soul—put on board."

Finn scrunches his nose. "Bummer. The ones that sneak up are always the most fun. Take this one, for instance." He grabs Annie around the waist and plants a loud, wet kiss on her lips. "I didn't even suspect she had weaseled her way into my playboy heart until it was too late. I was well and truly caught in her net." He grins down at his wife, who stops squealing and squirming and throws her arms around his neck.

"I guess the same could be said for you, Princess. Once you set your mind to it, I never had a chance. I was a goner." Gale tweaks the end of Madge's perfect nose. Although it sounds like Gale's talking about a life sentence, it's clearly one he's willing to serve.

"Best accident that never happened." Madge leans in to give him a peck that doesn't even muss her lip stain.

I make a sound between a snort and a gag. At least Katniss prevents Peeta from spouting some equally nauseating bit about how her scowl lights up the room and makes him feel complete. Of course, she does this by hopping into his lap, practically crushing his pulsing pillar of pleasure in the process. She makes it up to him, though, by giving him a long, slow, deep, hot, wet kiss that lasts three days. We're all gaping at them by the time they break apart.

"What?" She glances the table and scowls. "It's not like we've never kissed in front of you before."

I shrug. Who am I to judge a little PDA? I had sex with Cato in the backseat of a car parked on the Pacific Coast Highway at dusk. If Katniss wants to bob on Peeta's big buoy of bliss, I'll just avert my eyes. I make a mental note to put on some P.O.D. and slip my ear buds in for good measure before we turn in.

Brue clears throat in the awkward silence and lifts his Arena Brewing Company long neck. "To the ones who snuck up on us," he toasts. His heavy gaze rests of me as we all drink.

A little while later, Brue comes downstairs from the helm. "We'll be in Avalon in a little while. You guys want to take the tender into port? We could maybe have dinner? Quint's going to head there anyway so he can spend the night at home…"

I can tell Peeta's mentally adjusting his menus for the long weekend, but the twinkle in his eyes tell me that he's up for a little break from the kitchen. I, on the other hand, can't say I think anything that involves food is a good idea. Looking around the table at the carb carnage, I can't imagine how any of us are going to eat anything ever again. Given the fact that I still have contraband Entenmann's that I don't plan on sharing with anyone but Everdeen, that's really saying something.

Everyone else high fives over Brue's suggestion when Finn narrows his eyes at me and asks, "Jo, are you in?"

"Nah. You guys go ahead. I'm tired. Besides, I missed the memo that we weren't camping and only brought a couple of bikinis, some shorts, and sweats."

Gale scoffs, pointing vaguely in the direction of his stateroom. "Did you see the four suitcases Madge brought on board? I'm pretty sure she can cover any fashion emergency you might have."

I still demur. "Maybe tomorrow."

As they get the eighteen-foot tender ready to launch, Brue pulls me aside. "Are you sure you're alright? We can wait for you if you want to come along." He scans my face as he frowns and the wind tousles his dark hair.

My smile is naturally tired. "Yeah. I brought some work with me and the quiet will do me good. Maybe I'll work in some Pilates, too."

He doesn't look convinced. "I should have held the package from Angus, shouldn't I?"

"No. Thank you for making sure I got it. I just need a little time to myself to think, that's all."

"Ok. There's plenty of snacks and drinks in the galley. And do you remember how I showed you to work the remotes for the TV and the audio equipment?"

I laugh. "I'll be fine, really. Stop worrying. You guys have a good time." I can't stop myself from reaching up and fixing his collar, then smoothing the shoulders of his navy blue polo shirt.

His eyes darken. "We'll be back early. Catalina doesn't keep late hours."

"Don't rush back on my account. Like I said, I'll be fine." I put a hand up before he can speak again. "And I'll call if I need anything. Promise. Now scoot."

He nods, grabs his jacket, and climbs into the smaller boat, all long limbs and easy grace. I watch as it heads to shore without me, then make my way inside.

-o—

I jolt awake, pulse pounding to the sound of voices and the sliding door at the stern moving. It wasn't a nightmare exactly, but I remember enough that I shiver and pull the MacLeod plaid throw tighter around me as I blink awake. "How was it?" I rasp.

"Slow and expensive." Finn flops on the couch next to me and stretches out.

Brue stands on my other side. "He's just upset because no one recognized him and he had to pay for everything."

The group laughs. I can't help but poke fun. "Poor baby. Not a single adoring fan?"

"No," Finn sobs. Recovering, he glances under his eyelashes at Brue. "Now our friend here, on the other hand, had quite the gaggle of young ladies following him around all night. I'm pretty sure at least one of them may have made lewd suggestions." He widens his eyes and grasps his chest the way Effie does when she is particularly flummoxed.

"You didn't decide to stay on the island?" I lean back to get a better look at his face.

Brue's gaze meets mine. "There's no place I'd rather be than right here."

When his eyes drop to my lips, I yawn and rise from the couch. "I'm wiped. I'll see everyone in the morning. Peeta, you're making breakfast?"

He nods; a gleam in his eye tells me that we're in for a real treat. "'Night, Jo."

"I'll come with you. I never did get the chance to show you the trick with your bunk." Brue clears his throat, hefts my laptop bag onto his shoulder, and waves his hand in a sweeping gesture. "Ladies first."

Gale's laugh turns into a yelp as Madge elbows him in the ribs.

By the time we're in my little sleeping area, I'm rethinking my plan to drag him downstairs and seduce him. I really _am_ tired. And hungry. Those snacks were eons ago, and I hadn't bothered to make myself any sort of dinner. So, despite the fact that my clit is crooning over possible cockaliciousness tonight, I really just want to sack out and wake up to Peeta's pancake porn.

Brue doesn't give me a chance to say a word, though. "I thought we could talk," he says as he works some lever under the desk to collapse it, turns another to flatten out the back of the couch into a serviceable twin bed, then tucks a sheet over the upholstery.

"Talk? About what?" I drop the plaid throw that I've still got wrapped around me and slink out of my sweats. Hey, it's warm down here below deck.

Brue smirks as he watches. "Do you remember Las Vegas?"

"When you thought I was in love with Finn and then rejected me when I propositioned you? Yeah, talk about a good time." I grab the pillow he holds and flop down on the makeshift bed.

He smiles, complete with peek-a-boo dimples. "It _was_ a good time. Remember the part where you explained that you don't believe in happily ever after. Does that still hold true?"

I make a noncommittal noise. I don't think I'm alert enough to explain to Brue that I've resolved my antipathy toward the idea of H.E.A. After all, Annie and Finn are doing ok. And there's Madge and Gale. And despite that fact that Peeta has been dreaming of his wedding to Everdeen since at least freshman year—the cake at least—even he and Katniss seem to be going strong. Good, strong, happy relationships do exist. If I mention my change of heart, he's going to want to get into a deep discussion of why. And I really don't want to deal with that tonight.

So I decide to go after what I really want. After all, I've got nothing left to lose. "What if I wanted to sleep with you? Would your answer be the same?"

Brue's head snaps backward, his smile disappears, and he looks shell-shocked for a second. His eyes darken. "Do you have any idea how much I wanted you?" He makes his way across the three feet that separates us. "It was all I could do to keep my hands off you that night. You seemed so upset over the wedding, though, and it had been such a long day…" He sits on the edge of the bunk and runs a hand over his face.

"You said you were never bored while I was around." I reach out and touch his chest. It's not like I can resist, and like I said before, what do I have to lose? I smell the shampoo he still favors, and a whiff of something new: aftershave or cologne or maybe even body lotion. Whatever it is, I have a mean desire to lean in and take a taste of his skin.

He laughs like he had forgotten saying that. "I did. And I'm not: I'm never bored where you're concerned." He leans closer until his nose almost touches mine, eyes watching my mouth as he traces it with the tip of a finger. "And the reason my answer is the same might just surprise you."

I barely have a moment to realize that Brue's rejected me _again_ before his lips are on mine. And I do mean _on_ _mine_. They're on mine and over mine and there's tongue and it's so, so good. I don't know who makes the mewling noise that someone answers with a groan, but his hands are everywhere while mine get busy learning the new contours of his body. He tastes like beer and barbecue sauce. I greedily lap at his mouth while I shove his shirt up and to the side so I can take measure of his glorious skin. He's tan and soft and  _hallelujah_ has chest hair that's soft and dark. There's even a happy trail. The sight of it makes my mouth go dry as all wetness heads definitively south. I vow to camp out on that trail for at least a week, or until we need to call an ambulance for chafing injuries, whichever comes first. My hand dips below the waistband of his jeans and my jaw goes slack when I realize Brue's not wearing any underwear. Never one to squander an opportunity, I palm his length before stroking him authoritatively.

He sucks in a breath before he grips my wrist. "We should stop," he pants.

I cock an eyebrow and we have a little thumb war with his dick as the spoils. I may put in a valiant effort, but Brue's taller and has the fingers of a musician, so I lose spectacularly. Pouting, I pull my hand free. "Oh? Why is that?"

He carefully adjusts himself. "Because I'm still in love with you. And, as much as I want you on top of me while I come inside you, I want something a little more permanent."

I ignore the first part of his statement and hone in on the action verbs "come" and "want". Because I want to come. Get it? So I eye him warily—I don't think the color of his cheeks is due to our necking—and ask the question that's going to get me through the door to those two verbs. "Permanent? You mean like…marriage?" His eyes bulge slightly and a blush creates crimson blotches high on his cheekbones like he didn't think I knew the word. For a second I'm terrified that I've gotten it wrong and want to dive underneath the bunk and hide out for a week. I tell myself that's why I'm relieved when he actually answers me.

"Yeah. I was hoping…well, the reason I invited you out here on the ocean where you couldn't run away…" He coughs a little, like his discomfort is embarrassing before he mumbles, "we could get married."

I stare at him like he's sprouted two heads. Georgia dries up like the Sahara. I blink. He's still there, so I know I'm not dreaming. I wait for him to laugh out loud and let me in on the punchline. Because it's got to be a joke.

Right?

"Ah, crap. That was the most unromantic moment. Can we just forget I said anything?" Brue reaches across the space between us and tugs me so I topple towards his chest. He nuzzles my temple while he gently rubs between my shoulder blades.

His heart races like he just ran a marathon under my cheek. Almost like…like he's freaking serious.

I tense as a million question race through my head. "Why me? Why now?" I want to ask, but I'm not even sure where to start. This whole interaction feels surreal.

"Relax," he murmurs against my hair while those talented hands soothe the taut muscles of my shoulders. "Let me just enjoy holding you tonight. We'll talk later."

What the actual fuck. Does he honestly think he can drop that bomb on me and I'll just relax into him like nothing happened? He's still rubbing my back, though, and it feels good. Probably better than anything I've felt in a long time. I get a faint whiff of his aftershave—something light—that mingles with the salt clinging to his skin. I shift closer for another sniff or two. Before you know it, I'm cuddled right up against the length of him, listening to his heart thump with my eyelids at half-mast.

Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow.

My near-exploding bladder wakes me several hours later. The boat is dark and the rocking motion would lure me back to sleep if I didn't need to use the facilities most insistently. Brue and I are wrapped around each other, so I do my best to extricate myself as carefully as possible without waking him.

"Jo?" He rasps sleepily. "What's going on?"

"I have to pee. Go back to sleep."

I'm glad for ambient nightlights along the hall that help guide me to the proper door because I'm fairly certain I don't want to stumble into the quarters of any of the other couples. I lock the door and take care of business in the dim light. The very last thing I want to do is turn on the overhead and face myself and all the questions that are already taking shape to strike from the shadowy corners of my mind. I figure if I make it back to Brue before they're fully formed, I can get back to sleep with relative ease before the sun comes up. When I rush back, he's sitting up on the edge of the bed. The sight puts me on edge.

"Are you leaving?" I ask because I can't think of a reason that he'd be sitting up otherwise. Which means he may be having misgivings about getting back together. And as freaked out as I am by his weird statement earlier, or the fact that I mentioned the "m" word first, I do not want this guy to decide that I'm not worth his time.

He runs a hand through his hair. "No. Actually, I thought you might be headed to the galley for a snack. I figured you didn't eat much for dinner unless you broke into your secret stash."

My stomach rumbles loudly. I ignore it. "What secret stash?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Come on, Jo. It's not like we just met. Plus, I saw what's in your laptop bag."

I cross my arms. "Well then, you know I didn't touch it. Yet. And don't even think I'm sharing, MacLeod."

He laughs quietly and stands. "I wouldn't dream of getting between you and your chocolate. Speaking of which, I know where we can find something better than Entenmann's." He holds out a hand in the small space.

"There is no such thing."

"Suit yourself." His arm falls to the side as he brushes by me.

I let him get almost completely past before I grab his hand.

We have to be quiet in the galley, since the staterooms downstairs are so close. He motions me into the main living space while he gathers together God-knows-what. I'm tapping my fingers on the table by the time he joins me with plates, forks, and a cake box.

A cake box.

"What's that?" I motion to it as he carefully places it on the table between us. I'm hopeful that it's something of Peeta's but at this point I'll take something from a second-rate bakery on Catalina. With a flourish, Brue flips open the lid. Inside, frosting and caramel glisten like pre-cum on top of a double layer cake. Or maybe it's a triple. I stop counting after a certain number of inches, you know? Anyway, I can't turn my eyes away from the cake-porn in front of me. I grasp the fork that a chuckling Brue slides my way. "Tell me that's Peeta's," I breathe.

"It's Peeta's." Brue lifts his fork to take the first swipe but pauses at the last second. "You okay there, Jo? You look a little…flushed."

I ignore him. "You and me, we're going all night," I vow right before I penetrate the frosting with my fork. It slides right in, like this cake's been waiting for me its whole life. Hell, it probably has. When I withdraw my fork, I confirm that it's a triple layer chocolate with some sort of ganache between each layer. "Bless you, Peeta." A second later, life-changing chocolate—so deep it's almost salty rather than sweet—crosses my lips. I moan. I can't help it.

Brue watches, rapt, as I lick my fork and go back for another bite. "You're not serious about eating this whole cake, are you?"

I pause to glare in his direction for interrupting. "Is that a dare?"

He laughs. "No. But if you think there's even a chance that you might share with the rest of us, please use a plate." He demonstrates by cutting a slab, placing it on a plate, pushing it my way, and then repeating the sequence with a piece of his own. His eyes twinkle as I dive right in but even he groans after his own first bite. "I am so glad I met you guys."

"The friends you make in college are the friends you keep for life." I nod and lick my fork. Fuck, that Peeta can bake. I don't even care in that moment that he's a prissy food snob. He's a choreographer of the crumb, a dom of the delectable. He is quite possibly the only guy who can make me think of _other_ words that start with "c" or "d", rather than the obvious.

"Amen to that," Brue says fervently.

We clink forks.

A little while, and a lot of cake later, Brue leans back and wipes his mouth with a napkin. "So what was in the box?" At my blank look, he adds, "From my grandda."

"A kilt pin. For graduation."

He nods. "Ah, the MacLeod tradition."

"It doesn't bother you? Since I'm not a MacLeod?"

He shrugs. "You might as well be. I think you spent more time with the old man than some of us these last few years. My dad in particular couldn't stand to be in the same room with him." He rips little pieces off his napkin. "Grandda left something for me too."

I cock an eyebrow while I watch those long fingers decimate the shreds. "You mean beside the boat?"

"Yeah. When we had it cleaned, we found a pile of letters."

"You have a cleaning person for your _boat_?" I shake my head. "Do you get how far away from reality that is?"

"You didn't hear me, did you? I have your letters, Jo. The ones you wrote to Angus."

I fall silent, suddenly as uncomfortable as he looks, only with an angry edge. "Judging from your fiddling, should I assume you read them?" I thrust away from the table and stride to the sliding door. The enclosed space of the cabin feels too small. Too tight. Too…something. I wish I could go for a run. Anything to put space between Brue and I. "Those were private," I snarl, just before I slam the sliding door in his face.

He follows me, opening and closing the door much more gently. "I didn't realize what they were at first. And once I figured out they were all from you, I couldn't stop myself. It was like having you back: having both of you back."

I cross my arms in front of my chest, so angry that my voice vibrates. "You picked a hell of a way to show it."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Oh come on Jo. I had no idea if you would ever speak to me again. I missed you. What was the harm? I had nothing to lose."

"So why tell me now? You could have just kept it to yourself. Right?"

He sighs, clearly frustrated. "I could have. Sure. But I want to clear the air between us. No secrets this time around. No games." He pauses with his hands raised in supplication before dropping them to his side. "Do you remember when you wrote that loving someone meant letting them go? What did you mean by that?"

My mouth goes dry. I remember specifically writing that after a particularly bad week of nightmares featuring Brue and Carys. It was the week that spurred me to seek out Dr. A. again and really focus on getting past my issues. I turn around to look over the stern at the dark Pacific. Suddenly, the boat's not big enough. Hell, the ocean isn't big enough. It clicks that this is the reason Brue brought us out here: so I would have nowhere to run when he asked me this question. I'd compliment him on his strategy if I didn't feel like a cornered animal. "You are a bast—"

"No games, Jo. Just the truth. Did you love me?" His eyes bore into mine. "Could you again?"

I'm transported back to Angus chasing me out of the tent at Finn's wedding, asking me the same question. He had the same intensity, the same quiet desperation. Shaking off that weird feeling of déjà vu, I focus on the young man standing next to me with his hands shoved so far into the pockets of his jeans that his shoulders hunch. "What did you say?"

"Could you love me?"

I cock my head to the side and consider his taut frame, unsmiling jaw, windblown hair. Somehow, my life is always about what this man makes me feel. Tonight I feel brave, like he is both my kryptonite and the omega to my alpha. I don't hesitate when I respond, "Yes."

It's a simple answer to a big question. I expect a smile or a look of relief to sweep across his features. At bare minimum, some of the tension should dissipate. Instead, he takes me by surprise and looks out over the ocean.

So it's my turn to ask a question. "Earlier, that whole thing about wanting…more. Was it because of Angus?"

He snaps back in my direction so fast I'm afraid he'll get whiplash. "You mean out of a sense of obligation? No. God, no. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled the old man would have approved. But, even if he hadn't, you would still be my choice."

"But _why_?" I can't keep my utter incredulity for the situation from coloring my words. Really. The guy's got to give me something. "You said no more games," I remind him.

He thinks for a minute, once more looking out to sea. "If you're asking why I love you, that's hard to quantify. Because you're you. Because everything we've done in the past five years has come back to you and how you'll react to it. Because I love that I'm never bored when I'm with you. I think of things to tell you throughout every single day, and dream about waking up with you next to me. I never realized how lucky I was to have you in my life until you…weren't. I want that again. As for my suggestion...I've never bought into the suburban white picket fence, two-and-a-half kids sort of life. I'm not sure whether you do or don't, but you've always been someone who'd rather make up her own mind than do what someone else tells her to do. I admire that. I know that marriage can be hard. Hell, I watched my parents' fail. But I had my grandparents to show me how great it can be if you fight for it. I think you're a fighter, Jo. Someone who will stand beside me through thick and thin."

"And if I say that I don't want to do the whole traditional thing? Share bank accounts, stay monogamous, live together?"

His jaw clenches and releases so quickly that I think I imagine it. "We can work on it. I'm open to almost anything as long as I know I can have you in my life. But whatever we do goes both ways, right? So if you're not monogamous, then neither am I."

_Fuck that._ I don't even care that I'm not sleeping with him again yet, I will cut the next bitch who so much as looks at his rapacious rod of revelry. I must say some of that out loud, or Brue guesses based on my expression, because his laugh is husky. Hot. The kind of laugh that could melt my panties right off.

"Not a fan of that, huh? Me neither." He crosses to me and strokes a thumb lightly across my bottom lip. It's the first time he's touched me since our kiss earlier, and it makes my little man in a boat throb. Or maybe it's not the touch but the way his eyes drop to follow his thumb. Like they could devour me. _Fuck_. I lean forward, intent on impaling myself on his mizzenmast of manhood, when he stops me with a whisper.

"I know you need time to think it through. And I'll give you as much as you need. But I'm not going to fuck you until I have your answer."

_Wait. What?_ "Wh-what do you mean?" I stammer.

"It's too easy for me to fall into bed with you. And then things will get confusing again because I'll be too focused on all the ways I've dreamt of making you come since we broke up to actually pay attention to _us._ So I think it's best if we keep it platonic for now."

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is Vegas all over again!" I flop onto the cushions of the divan built into the stern.

Brue joins me with a wry smile. "No, it's not. In Vegas you didn't know if I wanted you." He takes my hand and draws it over to where he's hard. "I want you, Jo. In every way a man wants a woman. And I do mean _every_ way. You can't even imagine how many times on tour I fantasized about losing myself inside you. All you have to do is say yes."

I mumble something my grandmother used to say about cows and getting the milk for free that makes Brue laugh. Refusing to give up, I stroke him through his jeans and lean forward. Breathlessly, eyes on his lips, I drawl, "Are there any loopholes? Anything that's not strictly off limits?"

He chuckles wickedly and kisses me slowly. Deeply. "I like the way you think. Why don't we try to sleep and see what tomorrow brings?"

I pull him to me for a lingering kiss one more time. Who cares about tomorrow? I just want to enjoy him tonight.

-o—

"So? You and Brue together again?" Annie sits demurely on the divan next to me, balancing her plate and mimosa glass carefully.

I ignore the question by taking a huge bite. It's not a hardship, since it's Peeta's stuffed French toast that lights up my mouth with sweet egg bread, mascarpone, hints of lemon, and a ton of berries, all drizzled with fresh berry jam. My taste buds sing at first contact and I have to stop myself from moaning appreciatively. "This is amazing." I take another forkful.

"Don't change the subject." Annie takes a sip from her flute which looks more like orange juice than mimosa.

Katniss crosses her arms. "Everything Peeta makes is amazing. You, of all people, should know that." She gets more and more agitated as I take my time chewing and swallowing. "You know I had to get rid of the evidence you left last night, right? The least you can say is 'thank you'."

Well, that explains why the cake was gone this morning when I came up to breakfast. I thought Brue had handled it after we parted ways. "Thank you, oh great Katniss," I say with a flourish. As an afterthought, I add, "What did you do with the leftovers?"

"I had to throw them out. Do you have any idea how long that cake took and how much I was looking forward to eating it?" She holds up a hand to stop me from speaking. "No. Don't say a word. There is no way I was going to have some, then lie to Peeta about what happened to it."

"Why make something up? Why not just tell him I had a bout of premature maceration? We could have had the rest for breakfast." I lean over to Annie and stage-whisper, "Peeta made the most amazing chocolate cake. Brue and I broke it open last night and Brainless, here, threw out the leftovers."

Annie looks askance in my direction before returning her focus to her plate. "I am not getting involved, Jo. How Katniss handles her relationship with Peeta is up to her."

"She treats him like he can't handle anything." I direct the comment at Annie, but I glare at Katniss. Really, she doesn't give the guy enough credit. He rid himself of his horrible mother, started his own business from nothing, and makes it in the concrete jungle that is downtown L.A. every day. And he does all that while helping people.

"I _protect_ him." Never one to hide her feelings when they can be communicated with a frown, scowl, or glare, Katniss engages all three.

"He doesn't need protecting."

We glare at each other, neither willing to look away, when the sliding door opens and a burst of male laughter escapes from inside before the door closes behind Madge. She wears a lacy bikini cover-up and a huge smile. Even without make-up she's gorgeous.

She stops to glance from me to Katniss, unimpressed by the tension. Or, at least willing to call us on it. "Ladies, what's the problem? We're on vacation, it's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing—"

"Someone's chipper. I bet Gale's ass is sore this morning. Did you guys somehow soundproof your stateroom so we wouldn't hear anything? " I ignore Madge's pointed look and lean back to take a sip of my mimosa.

Katniss flicks her braid over her shoulder irritably. "We were just talking about Brue and Jo getting back together. Jo was avoiding the question _as usual._ "

Madge pauses in the process of cutting her French toast to spear me with a smile. "You guys are together? That's great!"

I groan and lean my head against the couch to look at the sky. I want to have something good to report, I really do. But I'm not simple enough to believe that a few kisses shared with Brue in the dark mean we're back together. Especially when there's a bigger question in play that I can't share with these ladies until I've sorted out how I feel about it. I figure that will happen around the time I'm thirty or when Katniss and Peeta get married, whichever comes first. I cover my eyes with a hand to block out the sun. "Brue wants loyalty and companionship. I told him to get a dog."

Katniss snorts. "Well, that would be better than the horse's ass sitting in front of us, that's for sure. What is your problem with being happy?"

I brush the hair out of my eyes so Katniss and I can lock gazes. "I don't know. What's yours?"

"Where are the guys?" Annie looks around. Maybe she's trying to change the subject. Or maybe she's honestly curious.

Madge chews and swallows a bite before she answers. "I think they're all keeping Peeta company inside, since he's in the galley."

I drawl. "Ah, yes. Barefoot and in the kitchen. Tell me, Brainless, when are you going to do your duty and get him pregnant?" I can tell it's a direct hit by the way her chest heaves. The fact that she jumps to her feet might also be a big giveaway.

Her fists clench. "Fuck you, Jo. I don't owe you an explanation for my timetable."

"It's a timetable now? You mean you're finally admitting it's going to happen?" I push. It's a dick move and I know it, but I can't help badgering her.

She licks her lips and opens her mouth, eyes wide. I'm pretty sure I'll finally get the real answer as to why she won't just say yes when Peeta asks. And maybe, just maybe, her response will help explain all the things I'm feeling this morning when I think of Brue.

"Finn wants another baby."

Annie's voice is low, practically carried away by the soft breeze blowing around the deck. I only know I didn't mishear her because Katniss whirls toward her. "What?"

Her voice is just as soft when she calmly repeats, "Finn wants another baby."

"Annie, you can't." Katniss crosses to her and sinks down on a cushion to pat her hand. "You could die. Remember what happened last time?"

I swallow my shock. Annie doesn't look frightened. If anything, she looks calmer than either Katniss or I. "Are you considering it? Because Katniss is right."

Katniss shoots me a surprised look, which I return with a wink. The girl's fun to bait, but she's smart as a whip and straight as an arrow. I'd be an idiot if I didn't respect her.

Annie's mouth tilts into a soft smile. "We could walk out the door tomorrow and get hit by car. There are no certainties in life." She shrugs. "I'd like to give Sam a brother or sister to play with. And we have options: we can engage medication right away, look into care, hire a nanny… It's not like there's no way to get through it. I just need to be careful." Her eyes drop to her hands. "I'm scared, though. You guys will watch out for me? Finn didn't really notice any change last time until it was almost too late—" her voice breaks.

Katniss throws her arms around Annie's shoulders and squeezes. "Of course we'll make sure you're okay."

Annie cries softly. "Be-because I need my family with me to do this. And you guys…you're my sisters."

Okay, that's enough. I can't handle her crying, so I lean in and squeeze her shoulders right on top of Katniss's hands. Madge reaches over the top, too, until we're all piled on one another, crying a little and laughing. "We've got your back, Annie. And if Finn screws this up in any way, I will personally neuter him."

"I'll drink to that," Katniss says drily, She gives me a single nod over the top of Annie's head. We may have our differences, Everdeen and I, but in this we are united: nobody fucks with our friends.

-o—

We spend the day frolicking in the water. Rather, everyone else frolics. I spend the day either sunning myself or inside reading or doing work. Brue periodically comes by and rains droplets of water on me while he tweaks my nose or drops kisses on my shoulders. At one point, right before dinner, he slides behind me to grab plates off the counter. He's shirtless. I can feel the heat of his skin, smell the suntan lotion, and practically hear every inch of fabric as it skims across my ass. Good thing I've got my bathing suit and shorts on, or I'm sure I could feel even more. As it stands I have to keep myself from easing into him just to see if I can cop a scintillating feel of his steely sword. I'm debating it, deep in thought, when he slides one hand to my hip and eases me back against him. Yep. No doubt about it. He's hiding a pike of pleasure in his pants.

"What are you playing at?" I whisper over my shoulder.

He busies himself with the plates. One handed. "Me? Nothing. You look cold."

I snort. "Uh huh. Is this how you try to get me to buy the cow rather than milk it?" I grind my ass against his erection for emphasis. Because I could mount right up and milk that majestic member until we're both sweaty and—

I lose my train of thought as his hand moves from where it gently rests on my hip bone to stroke the bare skin just above the waistband of my shorts. Every single nerve ending in the lower half of my body stands at attention just from that small contact. I throb. I quiver when he toys with the fastening of my shorts, tracing a short path upward to dip a finger into my belly button.

He drops his lips so they blow gently just behind my ear when he asks, "Is it working?"

At my soft curse he chuckles under his breath, grips my hip one more time, grabs the pile of plates with both hands, and disappears.

_Fucker_.

I grin. Because now I know it's "game on" and I'm looking forward to it.

Peeta serves up spicy pulled chicken and soft, creamy cheese sandwiched on jalapeno rolls that leave my tongue numb in the best way. He pairs it with sweet baked beans and homemade coleslaw and we all gorge ourselves until we can barely move. That is, until he brings out dessert a little while later. If last night's cake was a majestic example of chocolate perfection, this is its porn star cousin. Peeta's assembled a chocolate bread pudding. Still warm, I smell the deep scent of dark chocolate with just the hint of a spicy, nutty undertow. A glistening chocolate sauce peeks out from below a slouchy mountain of freshly whipped cream that looks sated.

My mouth waters at the velvety smooth goodness. If I could deep throat this pudding, I would.

The first bite doesn't disappoint: it's as decadent as I had hoped, with only the virginally-white cream to break up the sinful pleasure. I close my eyes to savor it. It almost feels wrong to engage in this private moment surrounded by friends when I could just take it back to my berth—

"Jo? Earth to Jo?"

My eyes pop open to find Katniss staring at me. She looks annoyed, as usual. Peeta, on the other hand, is not only smiling, but looks smug. So smug. So very pleased with himself, in fact, that I look at my plate and then take a cautious sniff to make sure he didn't put something in my dessert. It still smells amazing, though, not off in any way. So I cock an eyebrow. His eyes drop to the bread pudding and then meet mine in a very _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ sort of way.

Wait a sec.

Did the fucker upcycle the dessert from last night? Could he have scraped the frosting off, cubed the stale cake that we left uncovered, and made this triumph of taste? But that would mean…that would mean that he knows that I ate it. He knows. Even though Everdeen said she took care of the evidence—whatever that means—Peeta put two and two together. It's just yet another example of how the guy is way smarter than we give him credit for.

I narrow my eyes which only makes his twinkle. He chuckles, dimples flashing. "How's your dessert?"

I'm so busy thinking of rejoinders that I don't notice Brue sit forward. "Peeta, man, this is inspired. Really. If anything might butter Jo up for a deeper commitment, it's this."

Silence greets his statement followed by the clinking of a single spoon against a bowl. "Well, well." Gale leans back in his seat looking pleased. "So that's what's got Jo more uncomfortable that a bear with hemorrhoids."

_A what?_ What the fuck is that? Has Hawthorne been practicing his I-relate-to-the-little-people colloquialisms?

Madge nods sagely. "That does explain a few things. Right, Katniss?"

Katniss frowns as she looks from Brue to me and strokes her braid in contemplation.

Wait. Exactly how does someone stroke their braid in contemplation? I shake my head to clear it from the chocolate orgasm I've just had because it is clearly muddling my thoughts. I push away from the table. "I'm going outside for some air."

It doesn't surprise me to hear the sliding door open behind me a few minutes later. "I'm not in the mood, Brainless." I assume Katniss is coming to lecture me on being rude, too thin-skinned, or for not confiding in the girls earlier today. I don't think she realizes how often she keeps the peace in our little group. It's not her, though, who answers.

"Easy, Jo. I just came outside for the same reason you did." Finn takes a deep breath of ocean air. "Smell that? It smells like freedom. Like possibility."

I sniff experimentally and shrug. "Smells like kelp to me."

Finn nods. "That too."

We're quiet for a moment. Finally I can't take the silence and flop down on the sofa. I know the best defense is a good offense, so I jump right in. "So you and Annie are trying for number two?"

Finn doesn't miss a beat. Like he's been expecting this interrogation. "We've talked about it."

I snort. "She hasn't had a drop of alcohol since we got on board. And I'm not buying that she's doing a full-body cleanse."

Finn grins sheepishly. "You caught that, huh? From the look on your face you don't approve."

I tread carefully. We've had enough happen in our friendship that I'm under no delusions that my opinion will ultimately sway his. "You know what could happen. It doesn't scare you?"

Finn looks out to sea so only his profile is visible. "When it was all going on, I dragged myself out of nightmares each morning and found there was no relief in waking."

A sudden image comes to mind of my dad in the weeks and months following Carys's death. The hollow eyes with dark circles underneath, the patches of stubble he missed shaving, and the nicks and cuts from doing so with unsteady hands. Slowly, he had come back to himself. But it had wrecked me every day that I had let him down so utterly. I never asked my dad about that time, and he never offered. "How did you get through it?"

Finn turns to face me. "You figure out that it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart." He scrubs his face, crosses to the couch and sits down. "And then there was Sam to take care of and he was just…he made all the nightmares worth it. You know, I'm not sure if he and I would be as close as we are if things had been different. I'm sure I would have taken the lazy route and put everything on Annie."

"But you didn't."

"No." He plays with a loose string on his cargo shorts. "Do you know why I loved hanging out at your house? I mean, besides the fact that your mom is smoking hot." He leans back into the cushions and winks.

I scrunch my nose. "That image is still gross. I always assumed it was because we fed you."

"True. But that wasn't the only reason. You had a family, Jo. You and your brothers and sister fought and played and wrestled and argued…there was always something going on there. And your parents—they actually _cared._ I remember your dad used to do your homework with you."

"Math. He used to sit and do math with me to make sure I got the concepts." I laugh because I had completely forgotten about those times, sitting at the table after dinner with my books spread out. He was always so happy when I caught onto something he thought was tough. Eventually he started helping the boys instead. Oh, he would sit down with me if I told him I needed help. But I just stopped asking.

"I had tutors. And Dad paid me for my grades: anything B or above got me cash. Anything below a B got me more tutors. No wonder the guy worked so hard."

"Best education money could buy. Right?"

Finn laughs. "Yeah. But it wasn't family. No Friday pizza. No board games. No homemade Halloween costumes. That's what I want, Jo. Christmas cookies and birthday bounce houses, and watching TV together on Saturday mornings until someone has to go to swimming or cheerleading or soccer."

"What about Annie? What about what she wants?"

"She says she wants that too. Plus, she wants to work for her family's company. I'm all for that."

"So you'll be Mister Mom and she'll be Corporate Lady. What if that doesn't work?" I know I sound skeptical. But really, doesn't all of that sound just too perfect?

Finn shrugs, but his eyes sparkle. "Then she and I will figure it out. If there's one thing that's come out of all of this, Jo, it's that we can tell each other anything and make adjustments. We've had to, both of us. It's not always pretty or perfect, but it's ours and I wouldn't trade it."

"That doesn't sound like the playboy I grew up with." I try to reconcile the man before me with the guy who used to have a check-off list for girls he had yet to sleep with on rival cheerleading squads.

Finn's trademark grin flashes. "Don't tell anyone."

I frown as a question circles in my head. Finally, I blurt it out. "What about all those girls you'll never bang? Don't you miss the newness? The chase?"

"Because I'm with Annie?" Finn shrugs a shoulder. "Sure. But it's not like Annie's the same or I'm the same all the time. And as far as the chase…it's a lot harder to build anticipation when you've got a toddler running interference than it ever was in high school with my dad traveling all the time."

I shake my head, not even able to imagine how _Phineas and Ferb_ or _Doc McStuffins_ translate into foreplay. That must be some kinky shit.

"Do you guys mind if I join you?" Everdeen pushes open the slider, holding three glasses. She shudders. "They've moved on to a discussion about weddings and I've had enough."

I smile in her direction, then take a glass as she flops next to Finn and hands one to him. "No worries, Brainless. I'm surprised you lasted this long. Madge and Annie going on?"

She leans her head back in the sofa. "And Gale. _Gale._ I can't believe he's even got opinions on weddings. Peeta's in there now, debating cake flavors." She sits upright and cautiously raises her glass to her noise.

I do the same. A whiff of something akin to weeds steeped in battery acid and antiseptic reaches my nose. "If anyone knows cake, it's Peeta. What is this? It's terrible."

Everdeen sips bravely and makes a face. "It's scotch. I think Brue said something about it being a Laphroaig twenty-five."

Finn whistles. "That's a five hundred dollar bottle of scotch." He gingerly places his own glass on the table, not tempted in the least. Although he does sound a little envious when he says, "I promised Annie none of the hard stuff this week. Strictly beer-only."

"None of hard stuff while you're giving her the hard stuff?" I murmur around the glass. I could kiss Everdeen on the mouth for bringing out something alcoholic that will make this night disappear. Finally, I let my curiosity get the better of me and slip slowly. Dirt and smoke clog my throat, along with a burn that warms me up from the inside. This would be the perfect thing to drink if I needed to down an entire gallon of water. Or if I wanted to know what a diesel engine tasted like.

"Something like that." Finn waits until I'm done choking. "What about you and Brue? Not to bring up the ten-letter-'c'-word in front of both you and Katniss, but what's your plan?"

I absentmindedly swirl the amber liquid in the glass before taking another small sip. Yep. Just as terrible. But it keeps me from having to answer Finn's question as I suck in deep breaths to counteract the hints of compost heap I've just swallowed. I finally choke out, "I never wanted a big family. At least, not like you described. I guess I thought I would nail the football team, then the Trojan Marching Band drum line, then sort of hang up my hoo-ha."

"And after that?" Finn asks while Katniss scowls into her glass.

"I don't know. Maybe bring it out of retirement a few times a year for renewed debauchery?"

Katniss snorts. "Ri-i-ight. Is that what's happening now? Because you're not really doing that. You haven't gotten laid since—"

"Do not say his name—"

"—Cato." Katniss smiles smugly and makes the mistake of taking a sip of her drink.

"How do you know Brue and I haven't christened my cabin?"

"One, you haven't been smiling very much. Two, you ate half a chocolate cake. Both signs point to no sex."

"Doubtful dick," Finn add.

Katniss chuckles and holds up a finger like she's just thought of something. "Active abstention."

"Enough!" I yell when Finn opens his mouth. I don't want to hear his witty rejoinder to describe my lack of lovin'. "You guys think you're so smart," I mumble when Finn and Katniss both lean on each other in a giggling fit.

"We're just saying that you might want to consider it." Everdeen shrugs and eyeballs the liquid in her glass.

I tap a finger against the crystal. "That's easy for you to say. You get to tell Peeta no and he doesn't pressure you by withholding sex. He barely even gives you puppy dog eyes anymore. The two of you just go on with your lives like the question isn't hanging over your head in a bubble."

"That's not entirely true: I don't think he realizes how uncomfortable the question makes me. But as for pressure…Peeta listens to the concerns I have and knows why I want to wait."

"Ah, there it is, Brainless. You've said it so often that Peeta knows your rationale by heart. And, not only that, but did you hear what you just said? You said you want to wait, not that it will never happen. Does he know that? Because maybe he'd stop asking if he did." I sniff, absentmindedly taking another drink. "Besides, Brue would listen. Maybe not about waiting but about the fact that I don't want to live with a guy because I don't want to give up my space, my bank account, or my closet. And I absolutely don't want to cook dinner for someone." I shudder and take another gulp of my scotch. Why not? I'm already gagging at the mental picture of me wearing an apron, chasing a bunch of sticky, smell brats while some faceless guy wearing a suit sits in an armchair and ignores us.

"I would listen. You're right about that," Brue says from the doorway brandishing the bottle of Laphroaig in one hand and a bowl of dessert in the other. Peeta and Gale stand next to him until he comes to the table and puts the bowl in front of me. "As for cooking, I figure we could just head to 451 and let Peeta cook for us. He's a pro, after all. More scotch?" He cocks an eyebrow at my empty glass.

"Sure." I have no idea how the hell the scotch disappeared, but it will give me something to do.

Finn rises to his feet just as Peeta and Gale come to join us. "Well, boys and girls, that's my cue to go find my wife."

I mumble, "Chickenshit."

He grins and winks. "I'm wounded. But she's ovulating, so that trumps your desire to bitch and belittle someone."

"I can't believe Finn Odair just used the word 'ovulate'," I hurl at his retreating back.

Finn stops at the door. "Madge is in there too? Score! Threesome! Gale, you want to come watch me give Madge some pointers?"

Gale laughs but follows dutifully. "I think you'd be the one taking notes, Odair."

I shake my head as the two of them head back inside. Peeta does us all a favor and ensures the sliding door is shut because we do not need to hear whatever spanking, whipping, or farm animal noises are about to ensue.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just joking around." Brue leans against the port railing. He frowns into his glass.

"I wasn't prepared to share yet, that's all."

He answers with a jerky nod. "It was a dick move, and it was disrespectful. I know that you process stuff in your own way and in your own time. It won't happen again. From now on, this is just between you and me."

Peeta clears his throat. "I have something to say, too, while we're on the topic of saying stupid things. Katniss, I had no idea that you were bothered by me asking you to marry me repeatedly. You told me once that you wouldn't say no forever. I assumed that you meant that I should ask over and over and not just expect you to take the lead. I should have known better." He clears his throat again. I wonder idly if he needs to take another sip to numb his throat. "From now on, I won't say a word. I love our life. I love _you._ What we have now is enough for me, please don't doubt that."

Maybe it's the scotch. Maybe Katniss is horny from all that talk of ovulation. Whatever it is, she gives a little cry and a leap, then wraps herself around Peeta. He staggers, probably because he's had a drink or two himself, and then they kiss like it's their last night on earth.

I think I see a flash of tongue as I take the glass from Peeta's fingers so he can use both hands to lift her. "Why don't you guys go get a room?" I urge, pushing gently on her back and guiding them toward the door.

They don't protest.

By the time they disappear into the darkness, I've collapsed onto the sofa. Brue joins me and I pull him closer so I can savor his warmth. I nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck, close my eyes, and say the first thing that pops into my mind, "He's going to maul her with his mizzenmast."

Brue laughs. "What?"

"Shh," I coax, trying to stop the vibration of his chest from keeping me awake. I slur, "That's nautical. Like pricked by a pirate. Fucked by a figurehead. Banged by a beam."

I'm pretty sure he laughs again right before I slide into sleep.

-o—

The next morning dawns gray and misty. Which is great, because that's precisely what a scotch hangover feels like. Oh, I'm sure it would be worse if Brue hadn't woken me up in the middle of the night for some Tylenol and water, and so we could raid Peeta's restorative éclairs. We had promised ourselves that we would only each eat one. Halfway through my second bite, though, I knew that was going to be a lie. In the end, Brue and I ate eight of them. Eight.

Which is probably why my mouth tastes like I licked the floor of a dairy.

I make my way upstairs to find everyone shares my mood. Peeta doesn't even say good morning: he just points his spatula at me and narrows his eyes as if to silently accuse me of being the éclair thief I am. I hang my head in apology. He thanks me for my honesty by handing me some sort of Monte Cristo casserole drizzled with jam and powdered with a flurry of sugar. He pairs it with perfectly crisp hash browns which still sizzle as he adds them to my plate.

We eat silently, each of us lost in her own thoughts. Brue smiles at me, though, as does Gale. Actually, Brue meets my eyes throughout the meal in a way that would have made me uncomfortable even a year ago. Now it just makes me feel warm. Like he truly sees me in a way so very few people do. Like he cares.

By the time Peeta pulls up a chair, the sun is starting to poke through the clouds and Katniss and Madge talk and laugh quietly. It feels just like old times in the dorms, only the food is much, much better.

"You coming into the water today, Jo?" Gale pulls off his shirt. Now, the boy's still got a pretty amazing physique, even with the chest hair. But when he turns away from us to put his shirt away, I can see why Madge would be a little out of sorts this morning.

Gale has marks.

It looks like he fucked a dragon. Or maybe Sil from _Species_ needed a sperm sample or something. Ten perfectly formed scabs trace from his shoulder blades to his waist.

Finn whistles enviously. "Maybe I should rethink that threesome idea because those are gonna sting like hell when you get in the water."

Gale doesn't miss a beat. "A little pain never bothered me. I'm hoping the salt will help them heal." Then he sees Madge's frown. "Princess, we talked about this last night: you got carried away. It's no big deal."

Madge rises with her plate, looking impossibly regal in her bathing suit cover up. "It is to me."

Gale follows her into the galley and then below. Annie and Finn head to the stern with Peeta and Katniss. I watch them all depart, frowning when I realize that we're all dealing with some serious shit. There's Annie and the baby, Katniss and commitment, and Madge and…control. Ghosts. We all have them. We're all haunted by something from our past that holds us hostage and anchors us in both good ways and bad.

Brue and I take the initiative of piling dishes and silverware together for clean-up. Luckily, he picks up on my introspective mood and doesn't say much until we cart the remnants of breakfast to the galley sink.

"You're very quiet this morning."

I shrug. "Just thinking. It's a slow morning, you know? All that scotch. I can't imagine how Angus acquired a taste for it."

One side of his mouth rises wryly. "Maybe it's a Scottish thing."

"Must be. I almost didn't want Peeta's breakfast." I bump his shoulder. "Key word there is _almost_."

He eyes all the empty plates. "Looks like we all did okay."

I chuckle as we rinse plates and glasses and place them in the dishwasher. Before we know it, we're done. Brue shoves his hands in his pockets like he wants to say something, but he keeps opening his mouth and shutting it.

"What?" I prompt because he looks like a fish.

"If you wanted to take the dinghy out on the water or use an inflatable, I could help get you settled so you don't have to actually get _in_ the water. I'm sure it's no fun being stuck on board the entire day."

"It is a little like _Cast Away_ being on board alone _._ But I guess better that than _Poseidon,_ right?" I quip. At his frown, I place a hand on his arm and add more earnestly, "I'm fine, really, but thanks. I promise that I'll ask if I need help. I just want to do some thinking. Maybe tomorrow?"

He pulls his hands from his pocket and runs the back of two knuckles along my jaw. "I want you to enjoy yourself."

I grab his hand and hold it to my cheek. "I am. Don't worry about me."

He nods and drops a kiss on my forehead. In that moment I realize that it's not about the sex. There are no strings with Brue—outstanding question about our relationship status notwithstanding. He truly cares about me without the sex. And here's the kicker: _I return the regard._ I suddenly get what Peeta meant when he said he wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever. We stay like that for a minute or two before I gently push him toward the stern. Right now I just want to sit down, watch some mindless Netflix, and digest both literally and figuratively. I can figure out what I'm doing with my life after lunch.

Peeta serves up thin-sliced London broil sandwiches with horseradish sauce on rosemary rolls and sweet, creamy potato salad for lunch. We all flop on the deck while Quint takes us to Two Harbors to change things up a bit. He says we're heading to Cherry Cove because it's quiet, we can moor there, and it's not as windy in the afternoons as some of the other places on the island. Whatever. I trust the guy to know where to take us. But as I savor every bite of Peeta's culinary masterpiece, I realize I'm not making headway on solving my little Brue problem. And I'm bored. Like, really bored. By the time we're moored, I'm in a foul mood.

Everyone else laughs and flops into the water or onto an inflatable, or jokes about the local wildlife. Even Peeta is in the water. Novice-swimmer-at-best Peeta. I-think-I-saw-a-shark Peeta. Whatever. They can all get crabs for all I care; I just want to punch something, or shoot it, or slice it, or watch some porn to break up the monotony.

That's what I tell myself, at least, as I hide away on the port side away from land and my friends. The sunlight shining off the water's surface mocks me. It beckons, far enough below the railing that I can't even dunk my toes. What am I doing? Hiding up here because of some nightmares? Carys is gone. She's not going to grab me and pull me down with her if I dive in. I've spent four years talking that through, giving that image power over me. Isn't it time for me to take that power away? I've never been one to just sit idly by and let someone dictate what I can and can't do. I own me. I make my own odds. Besides, one scream and Finn will come rescue me. And didn't Quint mention an entire Boy Scout camp on shore? I bet they'd love to get some under-age mouth-to-mouth going. Peeta might even bake me a "thanks for not drowning" cake, if the stars align.

It's just a little water. Right?

I scoot my butt along the fiberglass so that I'm just under the railing and rest my chin for a second on the lowest rung. It's hot. My whole body is hot. I'm tired of baking in the sun all day, every day, like one of Peeta's cakes. I tell myself that it will be a lark to sneak up on my friends. Maybe I'll grab Gale's leg while I'm underwater and make him shriek like a girl. Or maybe a sneak-attack splash war with Finn is in order. Swimming's like riding a bike. Even after eight years, my body will remember what to do. At least, that's what I hope. Otherwise, this entire exercise is going to end in humiliation.

I take a deep breath and release it. Then another. It's how I breathe when I shoot and I figure it will help me focus. Can't hurt, that's for sure. I stare at the water for just a second longer before I literally jump right in feet first.

Fuck. Me. It's cold. So, so cold. Why didn't anyone tell me that it would be this cold? There's no way that anything could live down here. No way. Never mind my nightmares, which were clearly inaccurate because they didn't involve hypothermia, I have to get back on board the boat before something freezes clear off. Surface. Track the sunlight, pull with my arms, kick with my feet. Get where it's warm.

A single thought crystallizes as I break the surface and gasp for breath. _No wonder Ariel was always lounging on a rock and wanted to bang barnacles with Prince Eric: she needed a Snuggie_. I immediately if inelegantly strike for the transom when I hear a commotion and a splash off to my left. Something white and orange. A life ring? A fucking life ring? Sure, it's cold enough to freeze off my balls if I had them, and I'm sure I don't look like I'm going to try out for the Olympic team any time soon. And, okay, I'm sucking wind like I've never done any cardio. But you try swimming while your teeth chatter! Does that really require something as dramatic as a life ring?

I pause for a minute to get my bearings as someone—Quint, probably—retracts the floatie. I'm psyched that he must realize I don't require aid when the bastard tosses it again. This time, it hits close enough that it splashes me right on the face with the cold, cold water of the Pacific. Who am I, Jack freaking Dawson? Stop trying to drown me!

To add insult to injury, he also calls out, "Man overboard!"

I would roll my eyes if they weren't frozen in their sockets. Because, of course, that brings the cavalry. I can practically hear _William Tell Overture_ as Finn, Brue, and Annie strike through the water with the grace of a porpoise pod. I hope they realize that I'm going to leap on the back of whomever gets to me first and use them as a giant electric blanket. Not since _The Matrix_ have humans been such a useful source of energy. Still, I have my pride, so I redouble my efforts to reach the boat without the help of _The Adventures of Aquaman._

I'm mere yards away from the boat when Finn pulls up alongside me. By the set of his jaw, he's pissed. "What the hell are you doing?"

My teeth chatter as I tread water. "I'm going for a swim. Why didn't you tell me the water is fucking freezing?"

He pulls me to him with a muttered swear. "You never swim. Never. Now you decide to take a dive off the side? When none of us is here to help if something goes wrong?"

I resist the urge to pull him closer just to get some warmth. Frankly, he's pissing me off and that's doing the trick instead. "Don't be so melodramatic. What could go wrong?"

"It's been at least four years since you've been in the water. What if you couldn't remember how to swim? What if you hit your head jumping off the boat? What if you got a cramp?"

This time I force an eye roll. "Oh, I've got a cramp alright." I push off of his warm torso with only a tiny whimper of longing at the lost body heat and strike out toward the stern where the swim platform beckons. I ignore the splashing sound of Brue pulling himself up beside me, Finn and Annie close behind. Towels. Where are the fucking towels? Finn tosses one to me and I wrap it around my shivering shoulders. Brue wraps another around my waist before Finn pushes him aside and gets right in my grill.

A muscle in his jaw spasms. "You could have been hurt."

"I'm fine, just cold. How the hell do you guys handle being in the water as long as you do?"

Finn shrugs. "It's not so bad once you get used to it. Now, promise me that you won't go in without a swim buddy. Promise." He narrows his eyes and wags a finger at me.

I roll my eyes, my shoulders, and shift my weight to my right hip. "You are so—"

"Promise!" His voice is stern, lips pressed in a thin, straight line.

"Fine. I promise."

His eyes narrow again, especially taking in the cocky posture. He seems unhappy that I'll keep my word. "Pinky swear."

"Fuck, Finn, what are you a third-grade gi—" I cut myself off with a headshake, knowing it's not going to do any good. Finn Odair is as stubborn as they come when he wants to be. He says it's part of his charm. Instead, I heave a deep sigh and hold out my pinky, which he shakes enthusiastically.

He leans in for a hug. "Get yourself some dry clothes and you'll feel better."

I turn to watch as Finn salutes and he and Annie dive cleanly off the platform. I'm not sure why I feel like a human who's just been abandoned by dolphins in _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ , but I do. Because now I'm alone with Brue, who grabs a towel and rubs his head. Which, of course, draws attention to his flexing shoulders. His sinewy, glistening shoulders.

I swallow. No longer cold, I drop my towel and decide that a retreat might be in order. Discretion is the better part of valor, right? Otherwise I might launch myself at him so I'm stuck tighter than a sea star. As much as I think he might enjoy the application of all that suction, I don't want to renege on our bargain.

Brue, however, has other ideas. Just as I make it through the slider, he puts a hand on my arm to stop me. I whirl on him. "I'm fine, I swear. Why does everyone think I'm freaking out?" I push past him, up into the galley, then down the stairs to my berth.

He stops me in the hallway with a firmer hand on my elbow that turns me to him. His eyes sparkle like the drops on the ends of his hair. "Wait a second, would you? You might be fine, but I'm not. That was…I don't know what that was. You just keep surprising me, Jo. Can I hold you for a second?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but tugs me against his chest. Warm arms cradle me to him, stroking up and down my back, playing with the ends of my hair. A shudder goes through him. Is it fear? Relief? Two cold bodies finally beginning to warm up?

"You look amazing in the water," he says quietly enough that I have to pull away and look up.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, which draws my eyes to his neck, then shoulders, then chest, then lower. I force my gaze back to his face. Would a tiny taste be so wrong? What's a little kiss between friends? I lick my lips, the taste of the Pacific salty on my tongue, and watch his eyes darken. It takes less than two seconds for me to press myself fully against him. He's all warm skin under cool droplets that slicken everywhere we touch. And when we glide together, I can just feel him begin to harden against me.

_Oh my._

Maybe I say it out loud. I can't be sure, except that there's a little burst of laughter against my lips as he drops his head so our lips barely touch.

"We could just go find a bed," he murmurs in between soft kisses, sliding his hands to the base of my spine and pulling my hips closer to his. There's not a single doubt in my mind what he thinks we can do in that bed.

I chuckle breathlessly, "If I had known you'd get this hot, I would have gotten wet so much earlier." I pause, then frown. "Wait. That came out wrong."

He laughs and trails his lips down my neck. One hand runs across my ass to grab under a thigh and wrap my leg around his hip so we're rubbing together perfectly. It doesn't take more than a millisecond for me to realize that neither of us has anything but our swimsuits on. Brue must figure that out too, because he hoists me over the threshold and down to my berth without dropping me or knocking my head against anything. By the time he lays me down on my bed, I'm aching and trembling in the best way.

His hands fumble with my bikini top, finally pushing it away, while his mouth makes a treacherous path toward a nipple that's already such a tight, hard nub it could key a car door. I moan. How is it possible to feel this good? Only inches—mere inches of soggy, cold fabric—remind me that this isn't a good idea.

I tug his curls gently. "So this idea of yours...how does it work?" My breath hitches when he moves his lips from one breast to the other.

He murmurs something against my skin. It tickles, but I think I hear the words, 'beautiful", and "so soft". I can't stop running my fingers through his curls. Because. If those are his words, he's captured exactly how I feel about him. I have to remind myself that I can't lose sight of our deal: no sex until it's settled. I'm a lot of things, but I don't welch.

"Brue? Focus. This plan of yours...Quint takes us out in the ocean and pretends to be Captain Stubing while he hitches us?"

He nips at a rib before he rasps, "Are you seriously able to think right now?" His thumb rubs just at the waistband of my bikini bottoms as he dips his head to kiss my belly button. "I must be doing something wrong."

My head falls back onto the bed with a thunk. "Oh, no. Trust me, you're doing everything right." I shiver as a drop of cold water hits my stomach, effectively bringing me back to the topic at hand. "Can we talk about logistics?" The sight of him looking up from practically between my legs makes me want to groan. What am I thinking? Let the guy close the deal!

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" He shrugs and frowns. "I wasn't thinking about anything specific. I was floored that you brought up marriage at all, to be honest. But given everything I want to do to with you right this second, maybe you bring up a good point that we shouldn't wait long. Quint could do it. Or Annie said the other night that she's some sort of minister so she can perform ceremonies."

"What? When did this come up?"

"Last night. Gale was talking about his wedding and Annie mentioned that she'd be willing to perform it and had already gotten some certificate off the internet." Brue leans forward so he can watch me. "What's going through your head right now?"

It's my turn to shrug. "Just trying to figure out how you think it would work. Who'd pay for what…do we have a dog or a cat…where do we live…those sorts of things."

Those very talented hands trail up to my breasts again, making it hard to think. "We could go Dutch for shared items. Things like the boat or our cars, we cover our own way. And we could live here or your place. Maybe switch off a week here or a week there. I guess it depends on where you're most comfortable. I'd be travelling a lot. Dog or cat? I have to put my foot down, though. Dog."

"Dog? Then we couldn't really live here, could we? And how come it's about where I'm comfortable? What about you?"

" _Highlander_ is almost seventy-seven feet, Jo. I think we could handle almost any dog. I'm comfortable anywhere that isn't on the road. I can't tell you how much I hated living out of a tour bus or in hotels." His hands stop as he rests his chin on my shoulder. "I just want to be where you are, Jo. That's all. That's what will make me happy."

I kiss him because that's such a sweet thing for him to say. "Let's go back upstairs."

He looks like I just punched him in the gut. "Are you sure you don't want to stay and…"

He doesn't need to fill in what we could do with the free time. My gut clenches at just the thought of him peeling off my bikini bottoms and driving inside me. But this is more important. It's bigger than sex and demands my attention and respect. "Let's go upstairs."

He frowns slightly as he straightens my top. "Is this how you felt when we were in Vegas and I turned you down?"

I grin. "Gut-wrenching disappointment coupled with insane horniness?" When he nods, I laugh. "Pretty much."

He steals another hard kiss. "Then I'm doubly sorry."

"Don't be. It was totally worth the wait."

-o—

Finn gives a play-by-play of my rescue earlier in the afternoon to Gale, Madge, Peeta, and Katniss. He really hams it up. Even though it's horribly exaggerated—to the point where even Annie rolls her eyes—I know that's the version of the story I'll hear him tell for the rest of our lives. Smiling as I take another bite of Peeta's macadamia-crusted shark with apricot and hot pepper glaze, I look around the table at my friends. There's not a ghost in sight.

Katniss crinkles her nose as Finn describes how I was almost purple when he reached me. She knows it's total bullshit, but she'll let him tell it before she engages him in a debate that will leave him quaking in his Sperry Top-Siders. Peeta just shakes his head and lifts a fork full of avocado and tomato salad with lime dressing to his lips. He's content to let Finn live in his delusions of grandeur, as long as they don't hurt anyone. Annie just laughs at her husband while she plays hockey on her plate with a roasted Brussel sprout. I finally put it out of its misery and spear it with my fork because, even though it's a Brussel sprout, Peeta made it. It's practically guaranteed to make my taste buds hum.

Meanwhile, Brue, Gale and Madge discuss whether Madge should open her dental practice in the Washington D.C. area right after she finishes school, or move it there after Gale wins his first House seat. Because he _will_ win. He's Gale. I snort, almost choking on the sprout when I wonder how long it will take for a tabloid to figure out his nickname. However it happens, I know it won't be anyone at this table who leaks it.

The light is golden and warm, the food amazing, the friends…perfect. I love these people. I do. I've learned so much from them: that courage and strength come in many forms, that loyalty can be its own reward, that respect and submission may look alike but aren't the same. Mostly, I've learned about myself. If I'm good enough for these people, surely I must be good enough, period? I almost believe it. It's the best feeling in the world to know that these people will be here to help me if I falter, and me, them. No matter what.

I must be grinning like an idiot because Brue slides into the chair next to me and hands me a beer. He takes a sip of his own. "You look pretty satisfied with yourself. Care to share what's going through your head?" He leans much, much closer so only I can hear. "What do you say we go back downstairs and take a shower together? I'll make sure to scrub all those pesky areas that are hard to reach."

My eyes widen because he's utterly serious. With all of our friends hanging out mere feet away, he wants to go downstairs and play _Scrub a Dub Dub?_ Then again, it wouldn't be the first time we've had sex in a bathroom. I shake my head. "Maybe I'm just gloating over the fact that I finally gave you blue balls. Turnabout's only fair, after everything you put me through."

He grimaces. "Oh, please. I wanted you for so long before we got together that I was perpetually horny. Why do you think I swam so much? All that cold water helped to keep me focused. When I think of all the times I had my hands in my pockets because of you—"

I almost choke. "You're kidding. You're telling me that we were both pent up over each other and neither of us did a thing about it? So sad. All that wasted time. What the hell were you waiting for?"

He takes another sip and then stares into the bottle. "Maybe I thought you'd make the first move if you were interested. We kept hooking up, but you never seemed to want more." He shrugs and his gaze sparkles with intent when his eyes meet mine. "And me? I was one part chickenshit, one part 'I thought you were hung up on someone else', one part 'I wanted to be sure'."

"Sure?"

"Sure." He flashes a grin second before turning serious. "You were going to tell me what's got you looking so lighthearted."

Heat rushes to my cheeks but I ignore it. I shouldn't be embarrassed talking to Brue. "I'm happy. Really happy." He looks shocked at my statement, so I elaborate, "All of this—these people, the weather, the food—it's perfect. Thank you." I hope he can see the sincere appreciation I'm trying to project, because I'm telling him the truth. I feel relaxed. At peace. Like my stupid stunt earlier this afternoon broke through some barrier.

He looks away then back at me, like he doesn't know what to say. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Madge interrupts us with a squeal and claps her hands. "You two are so romantic."

Katniss actually spits beer. "Brue and Jo? _Jo?_ No way."

"Thanks, Brainless. Appreciate the vote of confidence." My voice is heavy with sarcasm. I don't disagree with the sentiment, but does she actually have to say it quite like that?

Madge sighs. "Way. Look at them. They're soulmates."

Whoa. Just whoa there, Madge. I'm all set to dive in and explain to her exactly how the idea of one person being "the one" is total and utter bullshit when Brue jumps in.

"I don't believe in soulmates."

He doesn't?

He ignores my look of incredulity and continues. "Soulmates implies the idea that you're preordained for one another; that it's easy to find each other; stay along parallel courses. I think there's multiple people who can make us happy, but it's all depends on the choices we make as to who is the better fit over time. Take my grandparents, for example: pretty sure that none of it was easy. But I think Gran would say that it was worth the work to make the right decisions to stay together."

I stare at him. "Did you just describe a 'best fit to curve' equation scenario to describe a monogamous relationship?"

His dimple flashes. "I think I did."

I clink his beer bottle with mine in acknowledgement of a job well done.

Meanwhile, Madge pouts. Of course Gale leans in for a kiss to make it better. "I still believe in soulmates, Princess."

Katniss and I groan, Annie sighs. We all laugh. It's perfect.

Peeta comes in from the galley and plates eight golden rounds of cake obscenely redolent with the smell of butter. He tops each with a lazy slouch of soft whipped cream and a generous fall of ruby red strawberries. It's comfort cake at its very best, as enticing to the heart as it is to the palate.

It takes me until the plate slides my way to work up the nerve to ask Brue, "So…living together. What's that like in your head?"

Brue seems shocked by the question. Either that, or he's intently working the mathematical equation for maximizing whipped cream to cake and strawberry ratios like I am. He answers slowly. "I'm not sure-I've never lived with a girl. Not even my Mom full-time, except when I was really small." One side of his mouth curves upward sheepishly as he glances my way.

It's my turn to gape. "You're kidding. No tampons on the bathroom countertop? No shampoo you can't touch because it costs the earth? No different soaps for different body parts?"

"Do you do that?" he asks as he slides a bite of succulent shortcake into his mouth.

I try not to get distracted. "Wha—? No. But that's because I had brothers; if I had left tampons out, they would have run around the house shooting them out of their Nerf guns or something." I take a bite of golden, creamy, sweetness. It's summer on a plate. To Peeta, I sigh, "Dude, I will give you my first born if you keep me fed like this."

"I'm not raising your hell spawn," Katniss says between bites. "Brue, did I hear you just ask what sort of roommate Johanna is?" She snorts. I have a feeling that I'm about to get fucked, and not in a good way. "She's not high-strung with a lot of hair care stuff or lotions or all that. To be honest, I don't even remember a single bottle of perfume among her things." She sends an evil glance my way. "But she _does_ keep her vibrator, other toys, and lubrication in her third dresser drawer."

"Other toys? Like what?" Brue asks Katniss. I'm sure the twin spots of color on his cheeks are the reason he doesn't ask me directly.

Katniss shrugs as she swirls cream with her fork. "I don't know. A giant dildo that she calls _The Purple Monster_ , some handcuffs. Lube. Maybe some other stuff?"

I narrow my eyes. "Don't act so self-righteous, Brainless. Like you and Peeta have never used a toy or two?"

Peeta chokes on a strawberry, clearly communicating that I think the two of them are way more enlightened than they actually are.

Madge snaps her fingers. "Dammit! I never returned your handcuffs, did I?"

"Nope." I scrape my fork against my plate, loudly, to signal that this line of discussion is over. "Katniss, that much cream deserves to be eaten. I'll take it if you're just going to play around with it."

Finn laughs. Peeta's ears go so red at the double entendre that I'm afraid he's going to explode. And in a move that's surprisingly sexy, Brue gestures to Katniss's plate. "Jo and I can share it." He foregoes a fork for a teaspoon and swirls it in the leftover cream before offering me the tip. I take a small lick. He does the same. Cream, spoon, tongue for each of us; his movements are methodical. Tasty. Did I mention that it's fucking hot? I'm practically fanning myself after each glimpse of his pink tongue dipping into the airy goodness on the spoon.

"I think it's sad that Jo doesn't have a single perfume. If I'd known that, I'd have gotten you some for graduation." Madge sniffs like she's watching _Old Yeller_. "Please tell me you have lingerie."

Finn answers helpfully, "She has underwear with her phone number on it."

I break away from watching Brue's impossibly sexy lips for a second to add helpfully, "And one pair is autographed by R. Kelly."

Madge stares incredulously at me before shaking her head. "That is not lingerie. What about the stuff we bought at Victoria's Secret?"

"Years ago?" I nod. "Still got it."

Brue interjects, "Glad you're still wearing boy shorts. I miss those. And I wish I'd known about your toys. Scratch that. I probably wouldn't have made it to a single class if I had." He winks.

An all-encompassing blush sweeps over me. If I thought I was hot before…just the thought of playtime with my toys and Brue brings me to a whole new level of tingling pink parts.

Madge applauds before turning her attention to Brue. "Now, what about you? Any toys? Strange habits? Odd propensity for deleting things off of TiVo before they're watched—"

"It happened one time!" Gale groans.

Madge skewers him with a glance. "It was the Parks and Rec finale. You're lucky it was On Demand, or I'd have moved back in with my parents."

Gale makes a grumbling noise but backs down as Madge turns back to Brue. "Well? Any gross habits? Sex toys? Porn collection? These are things Jo needs to know."

Brue puts down the spoon and clears his throat. His ears are almost the color of Peeta's. "Uh…no. Not that I know of on any of the above."

"No porn? Really?" Gale sounds distressed. Or maybe disappointed.

Brue shakes his head. "Not hard copy."

"Do you solemnly vow not to check each other's browser history?" Finn asks earnestly.

"Wait!" I interrupt. Because I'm curious. What sort of porn does Brue watch online? I'm suddenly okay with him checking mine as long as I can check his. Hell, maybe we can watch together. All eyes focus on me. "I was just thinking that we should leave the browser history alone and move along to the question about toilet seat position and toothpaste tube usage."

Brue answers quickly, obviously relieved at the subject change. "Seat down if I have company over and I squeeze haphazardly from three quarters of the way down the tube." He side eyes me as he licks the last of the cream off the spoon. "What about a ring? Would you want one?"

"God, no!" I shudder. The thought of an ostentation piece of bling is just not me, no matter how gorgeous Annie's is.

He grins and shrugs. "Guess I'll have to call Fred and tell him we won't be by any time soon."

Madge half-squeals, half-groans. "Jo, the guy is on a first name basis with a jeweler. How could you turn that down?" She flops back dramatically against the cushions and holds a hand to her head in a fake swoon.

Brue leans to me and whispers, "It's never boring, is it?"

I grin in agreement before I smack my palms on the table and hoist myself to my feet. "Good talk! Now that we've shared TMI, I'm going to go outside for a breath of fresh air."

I'm sure someone's going to follow me—the group is rife with busybodies after all—but I'm still shocked when it's Peeta who joins me and hands me a beer. After we toast, he settles his broad body onto the divan. He's ridiculously handsome with the wind ruffling his hair. Like a big, strong teddy bear. Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky that all my guy friends are hot. I'm so focused on his Hemsworthesque hotness that it takes me takes me a second to realize he's talking.

"What's with you running from an embarrassing situation? That's not like you at all. You don't run from them. You create them." He changes his voice to a falsetto imitation of mine. "So, Peeta, how long have you been in love with my roommate?" His voice drops to normal. "Don't think I don't remember that. Or sending that book to Rory and leaving me to clean up Katniss's meltdown after that whole situation nearly blew up." He wags a finger in my direction.

I send him a rueful glance and reach over to clink my bottle to his. "Guilty as charged. But can I get a break for once? I'm recovering from a traumatic day."

He purses his lips. "So, tell the truth: slaying all the monsters you've created in your head feels good, doesn't it?"

I consider how it felt to psyche myself up to make that jump. Good? Not entirely. Especially not once I hit the water and it felt like Celine Dion should be singing "My Heart Will Go On". "You'd know better than I how to tame a monstrous beast." I pause before adding more seriously, "Didn't you hear that Finn had to rescue me?"

Peeta laughs mid-drink, which results in coughing fit. "I call bullshit on that," he says when he recovers. "I'd bet 451 on the fact that Finn didn't save you. You saved yourself."

My mouth hangs open both for the compliment and the off-hand way Peeta says it. Like he's known all along I had it in me. Then again, this is the guy who pulled himself up from the pit of despair by chucking beer, cheese buns, and Danish at a bunch of frat guys and homeless people. If anyone knows that success comes from a well deep inside you that you didn't know you had, it's Peeta. "Thanks."

"So now that you've put your ghosts to rest, Johanna Mason, what are you gonna do next?" He uses his radio announcer voice.

Even with his over-the-top delivery, I pick up that the question is serious. I take a thoughtful swig of my beer and formulate my thoughts. "I wish I could say 'I'm going to Disneyland', but I doubt I can fit that in this year. Although it might be fun one last time to take the boys. Maybe Charles can bring his girlfriend and I can embarrass him the whole day." I smile at Peeta before looking out to sea where dusk's purple is just starting to take make inroads into a sunset sky that looks staged. "Go on living, I guess. Breathe in and out. Figure out what's next. I've put so much energy into Carys for so long that I'm not really sure." More than the rest of my friends, I think Peeta can truly understand how I feel right now. But he had a project. He had 451. Me? I have work. But I'm discovering work's not all I am.

Peeta nods. It takes him awhile to ask, "What about Brue?"

"What about him?"

He doesn't hedge. "You deserve to be happy, Jo."

The last thing I want to do is talk about happiness. I'm not even sure I know what it actually is. So I do what I do best and go on the offensive. "Don't go talking out your ass, Mellark. What about you? Are you going to be happy if you and Katniss live together forever? What if she never says yes?"

He doesn't look away, which I find odd. Odder still are his next words. "I could be. I'm happy now. Happy with the way things are. I mean, I'd like for her to commit, but I don't  _need_ for her to."

I seriously don't get it. "Then why ask her at all? If you're happy, why change things?"

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "It's dumb. But maybe to show myself once and for all that I'm worth it. See, Jo, on bad days the voice of my mom still echoes in my head: I'm not good enough; not smart enough; I'll be a failure. Maybe I figure that Katniss and I getting married would kill that voice once and for all."

"But you are good enough, Peet. Katniss can't give that to you. You just have to see it and accept it."

"She can't save me any more than Finn saved you, huh?" He smiles crookedly. "That's why I called off the dogs, so to speak. She's off the hook. I'm responsible for me, Jo, I know that. You have all done so much for me…sometimes it's easy to forget that it's no one else's job to look out for me." He glances over at me before taking his last gulp of beer. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you doubt yourself just as much as I do because you couldn't save your sister. I think you wonder if you had just been faster, or double-checked the door, or told her something else, _you_ would be different. You and I have the same problem, same effect. Same damage. You don't think you're worth it either. No matter how many degrees you have, or promotions, or one night stands, you'll never be able to go back and change that day and it crushes you. But you're just as worthy of happiness as I am, Johanna. Even if you keep eating my desserts without permission."

I startle guiltily, even though it brings to mind his amazing cream-filled puff pastry phalluses from the night before. How many did I eat? Three? Four? "You know that?"

He snorts. "Of course I know that. Would I be worth it as a baker if I didn't know exactly how many of each thing I made each day? My inventory for 451 is all in my head."

"Why didn't you call me on it?"

"I just did. Besides, it's a compliment when my desserts are good enough that people steal them in the middle of the night." He stands and heads toward the door. "I'm going to grab another beer. It won't be full dark for another hour, so we have some time before the fireworks start. I'll grab you another beer if you're going to hang out here."

I start to demure but then think twice. "How about something a little stronger?"

He pauses just before the sliding glass and swings around to face me. I swear, I see his dimple flash. "You know, there are individual sized crème brûlée dishes in the refrigerator. I'm just saying…they're all ready to caramelize. It's not going to crush me if they disappear tonight." He winks.

I gape, visions of amazing, flan-tastic custard dancing in my head. "Peeta, I love you. Everdeen better worship the ground you walk on."

That damn dimple flashes again in a wry smile. "Love you, too. And she does, in her own way."

By the time the fireworks start, the intermittent breeze raises gooseflesh on my arms and legs. I barely feel it through my healthy buzz. Brue offers me both his hoodie and his body heat when he takes his place behind me. He, Peeta, and Gale thought it would be fun to relive their beer pong glory days with Finn acting as misguided ref, so the three of them are more than a little tipsy. So tipsy, in fact, that they've put Everdeen and Annie on snack duty. Snack duty. I mean, come on! It's not that Everdeen can't cook, exactly, but Peeta letting her do snacks is like Mario Andretti giving me the keys to his car. I can't complain though, whatever they've cooked up. Because a tipsy Brue is a horny Brue. I don't breathe a word when his hands sneak under the hoodie and inside the waistband of my cargo shorts.

His voice is a little bit slurred when he whispers, "We could find a bed." He takes his time kissing the sensitive spot just below my ear.

I arch into the neck kiss even though I scoff, "A bed? How bourgeois for us." I ignore the interruption as Annie and Katniss dump a couple of platters of stuff on the table behind us, along with an enormous bowl of popcorn, just as the first few rockets burst. Besides, my heart pounds so loudly that I barely hear the explosions.

Brue might be drunk, but he doesn't miss a beat and volleys right back. "It is, for us. But I need room to work when I spread your legs, hold you open, and put my mouth on you." He sucks my earlobe between his teeth and bites gently. The boy clearly has Georgia on his mind.

Get it?

Damn him and his honeyed tongue. _No. Stop_. Don't think about that tongue. I swallow hard, trying to force the visual out of my head. It doesn't help in the slightest that my eyes light upon the platters and I realize that Annie and Katniss prepared shucked oysters. They sit there, glistening wetly, swollen like a bunch of lusty mollusks. To add insult to injury, Peeta grabs one and slurps it up, then grabs Katniss around the waist and playfully kisses her neck until she squeals.

Madge isn't far behind, either. She holds one out to Gale and squirts lime suggestively onto the unsuspecting tender flesh. He doesn't look sold on the proposition until she leans in and whispers something in his ear that has him gobbling it down he's a German shepherd and it's a bacon treat. Annie and Finn each grab one, too. Pretty soon everyone's eating and laughing and having the best time, like it's a salacious shellfish celebration.

Ugh. I'm sure there's a seamen joke in here somewhere, but I'm too busy contemplating how there's not enough lime or hot sauce to get me in on that action. I just got back in the water and now they want me to eat something that is essentially a bottom feeder? I can't do it. No matter how much I think going down on a woman is hot—and there've been a few nights with nothing on Netflix that I've contemplated a gay bar visit to break up the monotony—I just can't do it, not even if I was in some death match where I'm stuck on a beach and have to eat them or die. I'd rather creep on a crustacean any day than suck a siphon-eater.

Brue takes my stiffening as a sign that I'm rejecting him. At least until he tracks where my gaze rests and chuckles. "Want to try one?"

I figure he's mocking me. I mean, come on: the guy has a yacht. I bet he eats oysters for breakfast when he's on tour, probably off the stomach of some young, nubile fan who just _had_ to have his autograph the night before. Pulling away, I head aft to the bow for a little alone time. Not like I didn't just have an hour of it, but I'd rather be alone and watch the fireworks than be made fun of. Even if it is by a guy that I wish would bend me over the rail and poke me like a pirate.

"Jo? Wait up!" Brue's still giggling, a little out of breath when he reaches me. He chafes my hands between his. "What'd you bail for?" One look at my face and he must get how irked I am. He drops a gentle, lingering kiss on my lips. "I didn't mean anything by it. But I'm glad you came up here so we can be by ourselves."

I turn my back to him, mostly so I can see the fireworks off the bow, but also so he doesn't see my silly grin. I like that he wants to be alone with me, even if it's a risk to my sanity and a potential lewd behavior citation if the Coast Guard catches us. "I'm jealous."

"Of oysters?" He sounds confused.

I mumble, suddenly embarrassed, "I had a mental picture of you and a bunch of bimbos enjoying yourselves while you were on tour."

He moves behind me. I can feel the body heat coming off of him as he takes my shoulders in his hands and rubs, then runs a hand up my neck to gently turn my face to his. He nuzzles my earlobe, my cheek, the edge of my lips, whatever he can reach. And then he whispers, "You've wrecked me for anyone else." He settles me back against him in the same position as before. It takes me a few minutes to relax against him. By the time his hands and mine are roaming at will, I'm pretty much boneless. Brue whispers a play by play against my skin of every position he wants me in and I sigh, grip his hips, and grind my ass into him as light and dark alternate above us.

Finally I cut his descriptions short with a breathy question of my own. "Are you trying to seduce me? Because I thought we were saving ourselves for marriage." I mean it to be sarcastic, but it comes out wry instead.

Long fingers splay against my lower belly to ensure I know exactly how interested he is. He growls, "I'm thinking we should change that plan. Are you tempted?"

Duh. How drunk is this guy? He doesn't need to check my oil to know I could use some topping off. "Of course I'm tempted." I break away abruptly and turn to face him as another blue and red ball of fire erupts above us. "But it's not like you to change your mind or use sex as a distraction: that's more my style. What's this really about?"

He looks lonely and forlorn, like he did in the storeroom as I walked away. "We go home tomorrow and who knows when I'll ever see you again. It's not like you live right up the street or come over practically every day like at the frat house. What if I lose you?"

"How drunk are you?" I half-joke. He sounds so pathetic, so lost. And the way his arms wrap around me tight and cuddle me close let me know that he's not entirely kidding. I reach up and ruffle his curls, enjoying the crispness that salt water gives them. When he buries his chin in the crook of my neck, I try to add a little hope and lightness to the situation by pulling a line from my one night stand rulebook. "Hey. We'll see each other."

It sounds patronizing even to me.

He doesn't look up. "When, Jo? When I'm touring? When you're working on your next release or meeting with clients? When we happen to bump into each other at 451 or Finn and Annie's?" He groans. "And I went and screwed up what could have been a great vacation with my dumb suggestion."

I tug hard on a curl to make him look at me. "It was a great vacation. Just because we want to sleep together and didn't—yet—doesn't mean I didn't have a great time. Quite the opposite." I give him a reassuring smile, trying to convey that, truthfully, I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time in so many ways this trip. He's funny and vulnerable and sweet, and romantic and hot. He's also more misguided than his composed demeanor lets on. What did he say earlier about our group of friends? He's never bored. Well, neither am I. When I'm with him, I'm alive in ways I wouldn't risk being with anyone else. And I'm not ready to lose that, either.

I assess his drunken state as a crazy idea forms in my head. Will he even remember any of this tomorrow? Either way, what I want to do would solve our abstinence issue, at least for the night. I make a snap decision to go for it. Fortune favors the bold, right? I grab his hand and tug him back toward our friends. "Come on. Let's go find Annie."

He stumbles and I have to slow so both of us don't trip overboard. "Annie? Why do we have to find Annie?"

"Because Reverend Run isn't on board, and Quint's busy eating our leftovers."

-o—

I wake with the biggest hangover in the history of hangovers. It's still dark outside, but my bladder, the pounding in my head, and the trash dump that is my mouth make it impossible to go back to sleep. I crawl over Brue, who's as naked as I am, and stumble to the bathroom. I take care of two of my three problems. Feeling slightly more human, I make my way to the galley.

"Morning," I mumble at Peeta. He doesn't look much better than I feel. Trooper that he is, he's mixing some sort of batter in a large bowl.

His voice sounds like gravel. "Morning. You're up early, Mrs. McLeod. Can I get you something to eat? Juice?"

I hold up a hand to stop him from speaking, turning my head away and closing my eyes. I can't even fathom the thought of food right now. Every muscle in my body has just clenched so tightly that my stomach feels like a ball of lead. _Mrs. McLeod?_ I swallow bile and motion that I'm going out on deck where the misty early morning damp will hopefully clear my head. And everything else.

I opt for the bow rather than the sofa at the stern because I know no one will think to look for me there. Yeah, it's a little like running away, but I need time to think. And with my brain working on only one processor, it will take twice as long to figure this out.

Everything about last night is muddled in a haze like mist over a peat bog. I remember bits and pieces, including Brue and I finishing the bottle of Laphroaig and then moving on to boilermakers. Why that seemed like a good idea at the time, I don't know. But I do know that we were celebrating. And I have sneaking suspicion that the weird dreams I had last night of Brue and I holding hands and speaking Gaelic in front of Annie might actually be real. I groan and turn onto my stomach to fight a dry heave. What the hell did we do?

Who gets married just because they don't want to lose someone or as a convenient path to boning them? Both reasons are ridiculous. They smack of an immaturity I hope I no longer possess. Marriage should be about…love. Respect. Intimacy. The need to be near someone and have them complete you, or some shit like that. It's not about dependency or desperation. Just from watching my parents, I know it's a decision you don't fuck around with either: marriage is the single most important decision you can make in your life.

Well that, and the friends you make in college. Because let's face it: the friends you make in college _are_ the friends you keep for life. At least I hope so. God, I hope so. Because the six of them are going to need to take this secret to their graves.

I must have dozed, huddled miserably in the plaid throw. Next thing I know, a couple of shadows block the sun.

"This seat taken?" Gale asks. He holds a mug and a plate of what that looks like snowballs but smells like heaven. Everdeen's with him and she holds two mugs, one of which has a tea bag string hanging over the side. She holds that one out to me.

I sit up and take a tentative sniff of my favorite double bergamot Earl Gray. Since it doesn't make my stomach revolt, I take a sip. Gale and Katniss make themselves comfortable. I know Everdeen brewed whatever it is they're drinking because the acrid stench of burnt beans is strong enough that I momentarily have to freeze and take short breaths through my mouth. Once I establish that I'm not going to hurl over the side, I wonder how Everdeen has any stomach lining left.

I conveniently avoid eye contact with either of them by bobbing my tea bag. And that's not even a euphemism.

"How are you this morning, Jo?" Gale picks up a beignet. Powdered sugar immediately clings to every inch of exposed skin until he looks like he's evidence in a C.S.I. episode. He gobbles it down in three bites. "Because you look like hell for someone waking up from her wedding night."

_Ah, fuck._ I want to smack my palm against my head, but I'm afraid of what that will do to the jackhammer that already resides there. Why? Because my deep sea floor tells me that Brue didn't have a chance to drop anchor and do any of the things he said he wanted to before we both passed out. What kind of idiot gets married so she can have sex and then doesn't? I must say that out loud because Katniss chokes out a cloud of powdered sugar.

Gale doesn't miss a beat. He just thumps her on the back and takes another beignet. "An idiot who's in love. You don't think you got married just to have sex, do you?"

"Fuck me," I mumble and hide my head between my knees. "What was I thinking?"

Katniss must recover from choking because I swear can hear her frown even though I can't see her. How can someone scowl while eating Peeta's beignets? "You weren't thinking, as usual. You just went and did something that's a textbook definition of spontaneous. It's classic Johanna Mason. Now woman-up! You're fierce. You're loyal. You're bad-ass." She pauses. I think she might be licking her fingers.

I groan. "That's easy for you to say: you've never woken up married."

"I'm envious, really. I wish I could be more like that."

I look up at her in surprise. Katniss Everdeen wants to be a little more like me? Who knew that was possible? "If I'm fierce, loyal and bad-ass, it's because I learn from the best, Brainless."

She smiles and offers me a beignet. In a move I attribute to discretion being the better part of valor, I demure. Powdered sugar wafts above her head like a halo when she takes her next bite.

"Where's your swagger, Jo? I'm with Katniss on this: get up and go find Brue. Talk about what happened and what comes next. You're good at building things, so go. Build the life you want. The worst thing it could do is blow up in your face."

"And Gale's an expert at blowing things up," Katniss jokes around a mouthful of fried dough.

He punches her arm and she retaliates. Pretty soon there's a powdered sugar blizzard and I do my best to stay out of the way. I'm relieved when someone clears his throat behind me. Well, except that I would know that voice anywhere and my stomach does a slow three-sixty.

"We'll leave you two alone," Katniss squeals breathlessly, ignoring my threatening look.

Gale has the audacity to wink as he gathers cups and plates. "You two kids have fun."

"Fuck you, Gale," I mouth.

He laughs as he leaves me alone with Brue.

My husband.

_Oh God._ I will myself not to be sick.

"Here. I think you could use these if you feel as bad as I do." Brue hands me two pills and a smoothie the color of kelp. I have to stop myself from retching. "Trust me, I know it looks horrible. But it will help get you back on track. Just don't ask me what's in it."

I nod. Marriage is about trust, right? I vow to swallow at least a mouthful as a sign of solidarity, even if I have to plug my nose and close my eyes. Luckily, it's not bad. Sure, it's thick and probably has chia or spirulina or something in it. But I taste pineapple and strawberries and peaches, and maybe just a hint of underlying bitterness from kale or spinach. Whatever is in it, it's light years better than what I had last night.

I vow, "I am never drinking scotch again. It's worse than tequila."

Brue's gives me a small smile as he takes a seat and sips his own green smoothie. "I told you it would grow on you."

We sit. We sip. It's awkward, but only slightly. The sun feels good against my skin, the breeze even more so. I decide to take the bull by the horns. "So, how much do you remember about last night?"

Brue looks into his glass. "I remember whisky dick."

I can't stop the laugh that burbles out of my mouth at the unexpected comment. "Does it make you feel better that I don't recall that?"

"That's a relief. When I woke up alone I thought you might be angry at me for jerking you around, metaphorically speaking." He looks out to sea for a second. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he fumbles in his pocket for a pile of envelopes. He extends them in my direction. "You should have these back. You're right: I never should have read them."

I stare at the pile. They're my letters to Angus; that much is obvious. "If that's a wedding gift, I should tell you I didn't have time to get you anything." I can tell the second the words leave my mouth that the joke is flat.

Brue's mouth twists into a frown. "About that…I'm pretty sure we can convince Annie not to send the paperwork in. We could—," his voice cracks slightly and he takes a purifying sip of green courage. "We could go on like it never happened."

I gape, then manage to squeak out, "You remember?"

He looks up at me from under his lashes. "When the woman you've dreamt about for four years pulls you in front of a minister and insists you say the vows from _Outlander_ —in Gaelic, no less—it's hard to forget."

My mouth opens and shuts, half-formed thoughts swirling in my head. My blood runs hot then cold as I realize that might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard from him and he's basically saying he's willing to make the memory disappear out of some sense of obligation or fairness. Getting to my feet, I pace a tight line in front of him. I finally hone in on what I think is the salient distinction. "Are you saying that you're _willing_ to go on like that, or that you _want_ to go on like that?"

Brue stands, probably because he's been taught from birth to stand when a lady stands. Or maybe he's afraid I'll hurl myself over the side. "Jo, I can't hold you to something that happened when we were both drunk. It wouldn't be right."

And he's all about _right_. Never mind what I want. What he wants. I want to grab him and shake him. "Answer the question."

He closes his eyes before saying slowly, "I think it would be prudent if we kept what happened last night under wraps."

"You are such an idiot sometimes, you know that? I want to be with you. Did you ever think that we might both have needed a little liquid courage to admit what we want?" I wonder if my yelling hurts his head, but I don't care. I need him to open his eyes and see me. Really see me. And if it takes yelling to get him to do that, so be it.

I get my wish: his eyes pop open. The hurt there, the doubt, is staggering. "Do you have any idea how much I want to believe that? But I'll be on the road, Jo. And you'll be here. Dinners for one, movies by yourself, fan hate on social media, paparazzi talking about our relationship…I never thought we would move this fast or I would have thought this through better."

I stride forward and poke a nail at his chest. "Are you done patronizing me? I don't want the letters back, and I certainly don't need you thinking for me. God knows you've let me find my own way for four years. It's one of the many things I love about you and I don't need you turning into a douchebag who thinks I need protecting from myself. I'm perfectly capable of my own rational thought. As for being alone, have you met me? I work weird hours and have my own damn interests. I certainly don't need _some guy_ underfoot all the time, thinking I'm going to dote on him. I've been getting fan hate and the bitchy side-eye by girls who want to hook up with Finn since he and I became friends. I'm used to that. Fake stories, too: my football team posted on social media that I was a lesbian. Believe me, I can take whatever your Brue-des and Brue-dettes can dish out. Paparazzi too. Plus, _reunion sex._ "

I'm breathing hard and I know I'm flushed. He seems surprised at my outburst and doesn't say a word, so I press further with the one thing I've never really said to him. "I love you. _You._ And I may not know what the hell I'm doing most of the time, but I'm pretty good at winging it. So what do you want, Brue?"

His dark blue eyes heat and trace over my face. He takes in the rest of me: the fists at my side, the heaving chest. A dimple flashes in his cheek for just a second. "Well, I don't have anything interesting for my episode of _Behind the Music_. This fits nicely, don't you think?"

I pull him to me and lay a loud, wet kiss on him. "You bet your sweet ass it does. Think of what a secret marriage will do for record sales."

He smiles and we kiss again, slower this time. When we break apart to catch our breath a while later, I can't help but think that Finn's right: the breeze blowing past us carries a whiff of possibility.

-o—

Peeta pulls me aside as everyone dishes up lunch. "I expected my tray of desserts to be gone this morning. And you didn't have any beignets, either."

_Ah fuck_. I strike a palm against my forehead. How could I have forgotten Peeta's choice custard? His creamy concoction? His piquant pudding? My gaze strays to Brue, who's joking around with Gale. "I was a little busy. But I hope you saved me some of those beignets for later."

He snorts. "None of us would have been surprised to hear your or Brue yell 'I'm the king of the world' last night. But things are okay this morning? Besides your obvious hangover? And no, you are not having leftover beignets. Beignets are best eaten hot and fresh. I've got something better."

I fist bump Peeta for working in a _Titanic_ reference. Besides, the dude has a point. "Hot and fresh is how I like it. But what could be better than beignets?"

"Just wait and see, Jo. Wait and see." He waves me toward the table and his hamburger heaven. What's that? It's a grilled hamburger, herbed goat cheese, and spinach with a sweet onion relish wrapped in some sort of pastry and baked so the result is somewhere between a hamburger, the best fucking Hot Pocket on the planet, and Beef Wellington. My taste buds sing with every juicy savory bite. After kale and pineapple, this is exactly the sort of food I need to disintegrate the lingering vestiges of my hangover. I'm famished.

"When do you go back on tour, man?" Finn asks as he shoves kettle chips in mouth.

Brue pushes food around his plate. I think it's the first time I haven't seen him devour something Peeta's made with as much gusto as me. "Dad wants me back in the studio right away, even though we just finished touring for the current album. If I can finish the new one before end of the year, he'll want to launch it in the spring and start touring in the summer." He sends me a questioning look from under his lashes.

Finn whistles low. "No downtime at all? Even my dad wasn't that much of a slave driver."

"My dad's not much for downtime." I wonder if I'm the only one who noticed the shadow that fell over Brue's face when he talked about his schedule.

That's my cue. I shove another bite of hamburger in my mouth and cross to stand next to Brue. I direct my attention to the group. "Does everyone remember any or all of what happened last night?"

Peeta comes down from the galley with chocolate chunk cookies the size of my palm. There's just enough for the eight of us and a power-grab ensues. I have to wait for the noise from the scuffle to die down, which leaves an opening for all sorts of color commentary.

Katniss wrinkles her nose. "You mean Gale and Madge sneaking back to their stateroom and making so much noise that Peeta and I had to knock on their door?"

"I thought it was inspiring," Finn adds in their defense. "Like listening to whales mate."

Annie makes a disgusted face behind his back that makes us all laugh. Finally, she adds quietly, "I think Jo is asking if we remember that she and Brue took vows."

Finn nods. "Of course. No offense, but your Gaelic sucks."

"I was drunk."

"I was talking to Brue. Man, for a Scot, you need to work on that."

I tap my foot. "He was _drunk_. Can we please focus? I need— _we_ need—to know that you guys can keep it quiet for now."

"Am I sending in the paper work?" Annie asks.

I look at Brue who nods before I turn back to her. "Yes."

"Holy shit," Gale breathes.

I ignore him. "We're going to try this and see where it goes. But it's not up for public consumption just yet. Ok?" Everyone nods, faces displaying varying degrees of shock.

Peeta crosses to us and squeezes Brue and me in a bear hug. He beams. "Let me go get the cake. It was a surprise." He drops a kiss on my cheek.

I laugh at the sudden memory of him in Vegas. "Every wedding deserves cake."

"You've got that right. Guys, I'm going to need some help." He motions to Finn, Brue, and Gale, who all disappear up the stairs to the galley.

I have a second to wonder how big the cake is before Madge squeals and hugs me. "You did it. You really did it! Oh, Jo. It's so…"

"Optimistic? Unlike her?" Katniss drawls.

Madge glares at my former roommate. "I was going to say romantic."

I reach over and flick Katniss's ear. Maybe she's right and this is too optimistic. Too unlike me. But I can't help but think of something I said to her earlier. "Brainless, you were right: I am loyal and fearless because I learned from the best. _You guys_ are the best. Thank you for being here."

"I think Jo's telling us she loves us," Katniss gloats as Annie envelops me in a hug.

My response is muffled as Madge joins us. "Fuck you, Brainless. Now are you coming in for this group hug or what?" We squeeze her into our huddle and I hug everything I feel out. I'm sniffling when I say, "Annie, you're going to make the most beautiful brother or sister for Sam. Madge, you and Gale will whip this country into shape. Literally. And Katniss, you make Peeta happy just by being you."

Everdeen scowls. "About that—Peeta gave me an out, but can you really keep from loving someone too much just by avoiding a piece of paper? Short of leaving him for good, I don't see a way to keep from getting in too deep. I might as well embrace it, right? You did." She gives a half-smile, and shakes her head like she's still not sold on the idea, and can't believe I am. "I know you guys will support me, and that means a lot."

I grin in her direction. "No way we're missing out on your sparkling personality."

The guys come back carrying what can only be described as a small, three-tier wedding cake decorated with musical notes. A large, candied one sits on top of it against a spun sugar music staff. I can't even imagine how Peeta made this while we were on a boat. The humidity alone would have doubled his work.

My sniffles get a little louder and Finn hands me a tissue, all the while pouting. "I missed out on an all-girl hug? Life is so not fair."

I ignore him in favor of quizzing Peeta. "When did you do this?"

He shrugs, clearly pleased. "You guys kept eating my desserts, so I had a backup ready. And then last night happened and I couldn't sleep anyway…" He blushes as Katniss glares at Gale one more time.

I laugh and throw my arms around him once the cake is safely on the table. "Peeta, you are amazing. Thank you."

He chucks me on the chin and hands plates to each of us. "Bottom layer is dark chocolate made with caramel stout. Middle layer is carrot spice cake made with hefeweizen. And the top layer is an Earl Grey vanilla cake. All of them have a caramel custard filling that may taste a little like crème brulée." A wink accompanies that last statement. I hide a smile behind my plate as Brue picks up the cake server.

He thumbs the edge. "You know, we never did the blood part of the blood oath when we took our vows."

"Not gonna happen." I grab the cake server from him and cock an eyebrow. "You ready to do this?"

He nods and places his hand over mine. As we slowly and carefully make the first cut in the bottom layer, he leans forward and whispers, "Hold fast, lass."

I kiss him. Why not?

Brue opts for chocolate while I go for the vanilla layer. We feed each other bites and neither disappoints. The chocolate tastes creamy and moist with a mellow finish from the stout. Or maybe it's the crème filling with tiny pieces of caramelized sugar blended into it and breaking up the sweetness that make it something special. The vanilla-tea layer has the perfect hint of spice to balance the vanilla and add depth. The same crème that acted as a counterpoint for the chocolate adds sweetness to tone down the sophistication of the flavors. I'm amazed at how Peeta can take the same, simple ingredients and make them taste totally different by manipulating the flavors around them. They're better together.

Just like us.

Gale pops open a bunch of beers and toasts to our future happiness. Madge adds that falling in the love is the one thing she never thought she'd see me do. Annie seconds that.

"Maybe you guys just didn't give me enough credit. Who knows where Brue and I would be if you guys had dared me to take a chance?"

Finn laughs. "You're the only person I know who views marriage as a dare. I say we toast to secrets, and the friends who keep them safe."

We all clink bottles.

I watch Brue over the rim. "To the ones that snuck up on us." He grins devilishly. I take that as a promise that we're going to be very, very busy later that night.

Gale makes a gagging noise. "You two need to stop looking at each other like that. It has me imagining what you and MacLeod are gonna do all over this boat." He grimaces.

Brue scoffs. "Oh, please. You kept Peeta awake all night last night."

"It got you guys a cake," Gale points out.

"True." He leans over and looks me right in the eyes. "What do you think we should do first?"

I pretend to think it over. "You did promise me a bed, but I think galley. Totally. We've never had kitchen sex."

Peeta actually grips his heart and groans. "Thank God I'm done cooking in there."

We all laugh.

I look over at Brue to find him watching me with a smile on his face. He blurts out, "And to think, we never would have met if it weren't for Brian. I should find him and send him a fruit basket."

I laugh so hard that I inhale cake. "Let's not. But we should send something nice to Elizabeth, don't you think?"

"Well, I've got all kinds of ring-money I'm not spending—"

Madge groans. Loudly.

I wink in her direction. "Yeah. About that? I might have changed my mind. If we ever go public with this I want a ring. Oh, and Brue? Size does count."

We're all so busy laughing, or maybe I'm so wrapped up in my happiness, that I'm shocked when Katniss says loudly, "I have something to say."

She's scowling, which isn't good. I look around in a panic, wondering what she could possibly have to scowl about. Peeta's having a good time. None of us are drinking too much. The food is sublime. The sun is shining, the weather's good, what could possibly have triggered her incessant need to be miserable?

She takes a huge breath and releases it, grabs the end of her braid and tugs it over her shoulder hard enough I know it must hurt. "Peeta, I love you. Watching everyone this week made me realize how much."

Peeta smiles gently. "I know."

She shakes her head. "No. No, you don't. I'm saying that I want this, you, always. You're always so steady and supportive. I've never been this lucky before, so I know I don't handle it well. Most times…I just feel like you deserve someone who can love you with her whole heart. I've been so scared of all of the what-ifs that could happen that I've been afraid to do that. But Annie's taught me that what-if's can't be dealt with. And Jo has taught me to enjoy the moment—"

"And Madge and I have taught you to do it all with a sense of style." Finn grabs Madge and they strike a pose. We all crack up, except for Brainless.

Katniss grimaces. "And Gale and Madge have taught me about what it is to have a partner. To _be_ a partner. I've learned so much from all of you—"

Peeta looks confused. It's no wonder: this is probably the most he's ever heard her speak. He's flushed, too, like he can't decide if she's breaking up with him or doing something else entirely.

I tap my foot and try to coax her gently. "Brainless, get to the fucking point already so we can have more cake."

She glares at me before crossing to her boyfriend. As quietly as she speaks, we can all hear her clear as day. "I'm saying that, if you still want me, I think I'd like forever."

Total silence falls. Peeta stares at her in complete shock.

She fiddles with her braid before throwing it back over her shoulder. Finally, she stands at her full height, drawing on her tremendous inner strength and the guts I know Madge and Annie and I are sending her way. "I know you said that you can't have a wedding without cake. Well, um, how would you feel about maybe sharing this one?"

I actually pump my fist in the air. Because Katniss Everdeen has just found her "yes".

Peeta grabs her—literally grabs her and picks her up off the ground—to kiss her. It's not some wussy kiss, either, but goes on and on. He doesn't even stop when he swirls her around in a slow, three hundred sixty degree arc before placing her gently on her feet.

Still he kisses her.

Finn wolf-whistles. Madge screeches. Annie and I clap while Brue and Gale laugh and smack each other on the back. I get something in my eye and need another tissue. Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? I'm bawling like a baby and holding onto Annie with a grip I haven't used since Finn and I watched _The Ring_ in a dark house after midnight.

Finally, _finally_ , they break apart. Peeta rests his forehead against hers for a split second and closes his eyes. He's crying a little when he opens them, but his smile is as bright as the sun when he says, "Yes. Always yes."

Annie's the one who chimes in, gently reminding Katniss that there are others who might want to share in her well-earned bliss. "What about Prim? Wouldn't you like her to be around when you say 'I do'?"

Katniss looks at Peeta, who shrugs. "We could fly her out. Or maybe head back east and have Haymitch there too? Just something small. It's up to you."

She swallows. "That sounds nice. Something small with our friends and Haymitch, your brothers, the Hawthornes, and my family."

Peeta envelops her in his strong arms for another kiss. "We don't have to decide right now. It's enough for me that you said 'yes'."

"If I'm travelling across the country for this, the cake had better be fucking phenomenal." I wipe the tears from my face. Brue leans over and kisses me, hard. I turn to face my friends, lean against his chest, and wrap his arms around me as Peeta and Katniss clutch each other tight and quietly discuss their future. "You were so right," I whisper. "It's never boring." His chest rumbles behind me in a laugh I know I'll never get tired of hearing. I tug his head down for a more leisurely kiss.

"I love you, Jo," he says when we come up for air.

"I love you too, MacLeod." I tweak his nose and grind my hips into his just enough to let him know where my thoughts are headed. "Now, about that bed…"

_Fin._


	46. Acknowledgements and Notes

First and foremost, _thank you_ to all of the readers who stuck with me on this story. Especially thank you to everyone who reviewed both here and on Fanfic.net

Thank you to BaronessKika, Doc, and Court81981for their beta work. Court, I didn't even know you when this story started. How crazy is that? FamousFremus, Chele20035, Oywiththepeetaalready, Nursekelly, Honeylime08 and Survivewithoutanyone all pre-read chapters and provided amazing, honest feedback. You all deserve my humblest thanks. GNO would not have been the story it is without your candor. Special thanks to Hawtsee for her hilarious reviews and discussions about my crazy group of kids.

A tremendous amount of research and support went into this. Locations, food, brewing, music theory, cheerleading, movies, pop music, what it takes to be a mechanical engineer, yachts (including Grand Banks), Highland Games, how to wear a kilt and kilt pin, postpartum depression, eating disorders, grief, BDSM, various therapies…almost every chapter had _something_ that we researched. I say "we" because Doc fact-checked most of what ended up in the story, which was only about one fifth of what I read. He deserves all the brownies on the planet for doing that work. I received advice, pointers to web sites, and other information from a variety of sources. It truly took a village to raise this story.

All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Special thanks to:

Jon K. and Mike B. for their help with music theory.

Jon, and Ted & Denise F. for home brewing advice.

Damase O. from Foolproof Brewing Company for invaluable brewing information and advice regarding brewing as a business.

Carol M. for pointing me at various curricula for engineering programs.

W. O. for information regarding postpartum depression. Several Tumblr friends who may wish to remain anonymous also shared their personal experiences.

Dr. Boyle of the USC Classics department for teaching and then verifying Catullus's writings as those of the erotic variety.

Chele20035 and The-Tesseract-Wrinkling-Time for information on Highland games, particularly those in Asheville, NC.

I apologize if I've forgotten anyone.

**Premise:**

I wrote the first chapter of GNO for MissHoneywell's (Everlark) Prompts in Panem. The prompt was "frat house". I knew there would be a bunch of really awesome entries and I struggled with how to submit something different. After a couple of glasses of wine, I stumbled upon the idea of "Everlark through the eyes of another." But who could the "other" be? It took about two seconds to settle on Johanna as the most obvious choice, and another half a second for me to decide on first person. Another half bottle of wine and two hours later what is now chapter one was done. It was only ever meant to be a one shot.

Honeylime08 said something the next day about it being really funny and wanting to hear more about Jo's backstory. I didn't think this version of Jo could carry a longer tale, so I asked a few of my trusted readers/writer friends. Everyone agreed that they thought it could be done and that people would read it. I needed damage for Jo to get her to her iconic quotes: "There's no one left that I love", and "love is weird". I came up with a sister she couldn't save to justify her damaged heart, gulped hard, and wrote an outline for the longest one shot in the history of mankind. The outline alone is 29 pages. The characters, bless their little hearts, deviated from it pretty substantially in some parts. Like the middle. And the end. And almost every plot arc.

**Locale:**

I'm lazy. I'm an 'SC alum (although the campus now looks nothing like it did when I went there). My dorm was, indeed, Trojan Hall. I was a high school cheerleader. Most of the first chapter was based on stuff I knew fairly well or pulled out of thin air because of red wine. That posed some interesting challenges when it became a longer story. (Who was Jo going to pair up with? How much do I base on a fictitious frat house when I know very little about Greek life?) At least I set their hometown as the place where I grew up…so that was somewhat easy to write when I sent them home for Christmas. I have also lived in Orange County and downtown L.A., so those were fairly easy too.

**Inspiration and Trivia:**

Working with a secondary character as my hero instead of either of Katniss or Peeta, I got to make Peeta a total food snob and a perfectionist in his own right. I justified it as "hijacked Peeta". I'm not completely happy with him in this story, but he sure was fun to write.

Gale and Madge…yeah. I wasn't a Gadge fan when I started this story. Heck, I couldn't stand Gale. But something happens once you're in a character's head…he's more "real" to me now. Out of all the couples, they were my favorite to write for this story.

Jo's "voice" is a combination of the friend (TJ) from _The Wedding Date_ , Jenna Malone, Haley Graham from _Stick It_ and Hedy Lamarr. From a voice perspective, I really tried to force the reader closer to Jo. She rarely uses speaking verbs. There's very few "I feel" sorts of phrases. As a result, we're right next to her when every bit of action happens and (I think) it's a much tighter narrative.

Euphemisms for sex and other…related…words: Let's just say that Jo uses words that I don't. As a way to get around that, I tried to come up with quippy euphemisms. Chapter one was mostly for fun, alliteration, and as a way to really get her voice to come through, plus I threw in _all_ the wood euphemisms I could think of. Subsequent chapters were more as a way to keep her voice going and to keep from repeating "dick" or the four-letter "c" word. It was very, very difficult –probably my biggest challenge—to keep finding new euphemisms.

I used color very deliberately in this story (once I was past the first chapter). Gadge's pallet is red/blue, Finn and Annie wear the seafoam family, and Peeta and Katniss use mostly greens, yellows, and oranges. Katniss has her funny pajamas, too, added as a lark. The silver of the parachutes is reflected in a few outfits Madge and Annie wear. Jo dons pink and purple at the beginning, fades into neutrals when she first develops her issues, and then finally comes back to pinks at Angus's funeral. Even her hair is symbolic…short in the beginning, longer, then short again as she figures out who she is.

Verbs were also tailored to the couple. Katniss and Gale had a lot of "shooting" verbs. Jo was "slashing" or "swiping" or "cutting". Madge was "burning" or fire imagery.

I knew Angus was going to die when I wrote the outline. It was still horrible to write that part, though.

I needed each couple to have their own plot arc. Obviously, Everlark was priority. That's funny to me now because they seem to have the _least_ happen to them.

I read a lot of Lori Foster, Alice Clayton, Jill Shalvis and Julia Quinn while writing this. Some of it was to read funny romance dialogue. Some of it was research into alpha guys and what it takes to make an alpha. I've already mentioned that Jo's entire personality was driven by "There's no one left that I love", and "love is weird". A great influence to me in the defining of the arcs for this fic was Stephen King's _It_ , particularly section 6 of the epilogue. That book is the only fiction book I've ever highlighted and this passage in particular encapsulates so much emotion that I still cry when I read it. I won't quote the whole thing, but it was exactly the emotion I wanted for this fic's ending. I'll leave it up to you to decide how I measured up.

_And if you spare a last thought, maybe it's ghosts your wonder about…the ghosts of children standing in the water at sunset, standing in a circle, standing with their hands joined together, their faces young, sure, but tough…tough enough, anyway, to give birth to the people they will become, tough enough to understand, maybe, that the people they will become must necessarily birth the people they were before they can get on with trying to understand simple mortality. The circle closes, the wheel rolls, and that's all there is._

_You don't have to look back to see those children; part of your mind will see them forever, live with them forever, love with them forever. They are not necessarily the best part of you, but they were once the repository of all you could become._

Children I love you. I love you so much.

_So drive away quick, drive away while the last of the light slips away, drive away from Derry, from memory…but not from desire. That stays, the bright cameo of all we were and all we believed as children, all that shone in our eyes even when we were lost and the wind blew in the night._

_Drive away and try to keep smiling. Get a little rock and roll on the radio and go toward all the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand._

_All the rest is darkness._

The hardest chapters to write (besides Angus's death) were those with Jo and her father, and anything Gadge-related. I had no idea they would be so tough. Gadge—Ch.38 I actually took to RomCon  and worked through in a class. I _refused_ to just be an E.L. James wannabe and sought to do them justice with an emotional scene that was also sexy.

So much food porn. I made or have made most of the items featured in this story. And yes, I love to eat.

Brue's name came from the SD Wild Animal Park and a teenager at the butterfly exhibit. Since the premise around this story was supposed to be Everlark, he doesn't get a lot of dialogue in the first few chapters…this worked in his favor. He ends up being this mysterious hot guy later on. Happy accident.

Brue's propensity for sex talk was established in the outline as something that could be fun. As someone who doesn't talk like that at all, it wasn't fun. It was awkward. Horrible. Asking for help from Doc was like getting a root canal. I ended up having to read a bunch of erotica (Selena Kitt comes to mind) in order to make it workable. I am so, so thankful for Baronesskika, Court 81981, FamousFremus, and Honeylime08 in that regard. Ladies, sexy ain't sexy unless you say so!

**Process:**

What started out as a normal fic became a serial novel, with a word count of almost 300,000. That's insane. This is the only fic I've ever written where I wrote things out of order. I hit many "blocked" events or chapters. When that happened, I either sat down and wrote around them, then filled in the gaps, or wrote something that happened later and backtracked. It was torturous, but it kept me writing. What I came to find worked for me in terms of process is this:

Write.

Reread for typos/mistakes and to get the voice at the beginning of the next day.

Write more.

Repeat.

At the end, reread and inject any Jo that needs to be added for color: humor, quips, movies, music, whatever.

Sometimes I would go back and reread earlier chapters just to "get" the voice. That's a tip for those of you who have a character who's really distinctive.

 

 

 

Doc, you gave me the gift of time and trusted me to do something worthwhile with it. I can never, ever repay you. I love you.

If you've read this far, may Peeta rain cupcakes down around you. Thank you, again, for reading.


End file.
